


The Pleiades At Dawn

by statisticsfag



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Illustrated, M/M, Slow Build, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statisticsfag/pseuds/statisticsfag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamachi AU. Set in 1890s Japan. Kazuhira is a young prostitute, sold into indentured service by his relatives after being orphaned. One night, a foreigner appears at his brothel...</p><p>(Kaz is 17 at the beginning of this fic, so I tagged it as underage.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At last I'm putting this idea to paper! This is purely self-indulgent (again), as I'm such a huge sucker for the Hanamachi games and male prostitution **in fiction**. This will be my first story with multiple chapters as well, so please bear with me. The first chapter is pretty boring, just world-building and such. ;)
> 
> The Pleiades is an open star cluster in the constellation of Taurus, visible in some places even during daytime.

 

  
          

As the sun set on the last evening of the fifth month of the year, the red lights district of Yokohama came to life. The ubiquitous red paper lanterns were lit by brothel workers, creating an atmosphere of vibrant life inside the walled area. Summer was still blossoming, not yet reaching its sweltering peak, with violet wisterias cascading from wherever they were allowed to climb. Floral arrangements featuring white and purple irises were seen in the front rooms of many establishments in the quarter, at least in those who deemed themselves respectable.

The main road of the pleasure quarter was already alive with the evening’s first prospectors, some rushing in as soon as the gates were opened, to see their favourite courtesans on display before a wealthy customer would snatch them away for the night. The entire area was closed off during the daytime, hidden behind a high wall, in the hopes of keeping the pleasure business controlled by the government with the young Meiji emperor at its head.

Naturally, a wall works both ways. It bars the entry of unsolicited visitors during the day, but also hinders the escape attempts of those workers who feel that they no longer wish to sell their bodies for a living. For many of those who served clients at brothels and teahouses were not volunteers, but had most often been sold to the house to indentured service. Orphaned children and those fallen out of their families’ graces were a common life story for many of the workers. A few had even been sold to settle their families’ debts.

One of the brothels, just off the main street, was called Lotus Shadow. It was a middle-sized business that had only male prostitutes serving only male clients. Such establishments were not uncommon in the red lights district, but they were in the minority. As the Master of the House rang a bell, several footsteps pattered down the lacquered wooden stairs, with the preened prostitutes making their way to what was called the display room.

The room itself was bright and warm, with colourful patterns covering the thin walls. The outer wall was a wooden lattice, the bars painted a vivacious red. The floor was covered in simple mats, with small stands for each worker to have their own teapot and cup on. Here the men presented themselves to those passing by, hoping to catch someone’s interest enough for them to spend coin. Although the basic service was the same for each prostitute, they tried to adapt a persona, like an actor adapts a role. The cheerful one, the sultry one, the shy one, the haughty one… And the exotic one.

The exotic one was named Kazuhira. Only his looks were foreign, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, but in the country which had only during the last decade started to open up to the Western world, he was still a rarity. Especially sitting on display in a brothel. His mother had ironically enough been a prostitute, his birth not a desired one. But she had kept him, the baby boy with eyes blue like the sky, until she fell sick and eventually perished. His father had been a foreign man, a one-time customer passing through the town on his way somewhere else. Neither Kazuhira nor his mother heard of the man again. His presence was always with Kazuhira, in the clearly Western features gracing his face; the blonde locks and pale skin.

Although Kazuhira had spent most of his childhood and youth being ridiculed and tormented because of his looks, he had not given up his spirit. Foreigners were not as rare as before, after the emperor had begun his grand modernization of Japan, but Kazuhira was not a foreigner. He was Japanese, born in Japan to a Japanese woman, but with the ugly look of a white man.

When he was fourteen, with awkward, gangly limbs and a broken voice, a man in plain clothing had approached the relatives he was staying with. They were only too happy to sell Kazuhira off, being rid of the monster growing under their roof. He was dragged off into the pleasure district, to become a prostitute. The bespectacled Master had explained to him that he would be trained first for three years, which would be added into his contract. Then, he would work at the brothel, Lotus Shadow, for seven, eight, nine, even ten years, until he had earned back the money he was bought for.

On this May evening, Kazuhira was seventeen years of age, having debuted as a prostitute only a month ago. He walked last in the display room, taking his position on the far right side of the room. He was dressed in a light blue kimono with patterns resembling waves, wearing a pale sash with embroidered petals. A bright red overcoat hung on his supple shoulders, his blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.

The Lotus Shadow wasn’t as luxurious as some other brothels, but the Master nevertheless expected high quality of his merchandise, as he called the men working there. Lotus Shadow didn’t have the half-scripted loud drama that was almost expected in the display rooms of some other brothels, usually those with female workers. Sometimes the shrieking of their theatrics could be heard all across the bustling quarter, all for the sake of interesting customers. No, the Master allowed his merchandise to develop personas as long as the men kept their base at soft, demure and elegant. Fighting was not one of these graces.

Four of Kazuhira’s companions sat with him in the bright display room, all dressed up as beautifully as possible in colourful, patterned kimonos. They all wore the bows of their sashes in the front instead of the back to express their status as sex workers. This practise also altered the silhouette of their clad bodies, making them appear to be arching their backs and pushing their hips out.

“Hey there cutie, what’s your name?” An older man with a thick voice approached the red lattice, looking at one of Kazuhira’s co-workers.

“I am called Yuu, my lord,” the prostitute answered cheerfully. He cocked his head to the side, letting his long black tresses fall over his shoulder. “Would you like to have some fun, my lord?” he asked, batting his eyelashes surrounding his large, almond shaped eyes. Kazuhira would have snorted if he didn’t know Yuu’s tricks to work so well.

And sure enough, the man ceased to be a passer-by and entered the first floor of the wooden building, with staff announcing the arrival of a customer. Once he was shown to a room, Yuu was called from the display room to join his customer.

“I wonder where Norio is?” asked one of the young men on display, this one dressed in orange colours, patterned with flowers and leaves.

“Probably still preparing himself,” Kazuhira answered. “It doesn’t matter how late he arrives, he doesn’t have to sit here long anyway!”

The remaining prostitutes sniggered. Norio was the prized jewel of Lotus Shadow, a man with graceful features and a body that would have made ladies swoon outside the Quarter. Norio had also worked the longest at Lotus Shadow, the day of his release creeping closer and closer.

Kazuhira had realized how lucky he had been to be taken into this particular brothel. They catered to a male clientele and not the poorest ones either. A night with any of the Lotus Shadow courtesans would cost a shopkeeper his three months’ pay. That meant that the house had a sense of quality to it and that the young men working there would be taken care of. Kazuhira had seen what the conditions could be in the poorer houses, and considered himself blessed as the prostitutes of Lotus Shadow were rarely beaten and were fed and clothed by the house.

Two members of the staff, barkers, came out to the street and started calling out to people, enticing them to step closer to the red painted lattice to admire the beauty of the flowering youths on display. The barkers would exaggerate the prostitutes’ talents and allure, depicting them as the closest thing to heaven a man would find while still on this earth.

Kazuhira received very mixed attentions, as usual. Others would find his grown blonde hair beautiful, his pale skin dazzling, and his blue eyes stunning, while others would curse at him for being a disgrace to his kin. He certainly stood out with his exotic looks, which the Master saw as an asset. The Master believed in the emperor’s dream of an open and modern Japan, and had seen the change in attitudes towards anything Western. Even now, court officials paraded around in black and white suits, while many others opted to combine the new with the old, adding bowler hats with their traditional Japanese garb or a Western jacket with hakama trousers.

A pair of soldiers in their dark blue uniforms stopped in front of the building, openly staring at the young men on display. The barkers ran up to them immediately, urging them on to pick their favourite of them, all of whom would be more than pleased to accompany a man of the Imperial Army. The soldiers were hesitant, scoffing at the high praise, asking if they would get a discount due to their positions. The barkers with their silver tongues suggested that their prices were already low for the marvellous adventures the men would get as customers of the house. Eventually, the soldiers decided to move on.

Kazuhira had watched the scene with interest, finding the soldier’s lifestyle fascinating. In some ways, he thought it to be similar to his own; there were the uniforms, the idea of serving someone, the companionship of fellow soldiers and the training. Of course, Kazuhira didn’t see the customers as enemies to fight against, but still. Something about soldiers intrigued him.

The sliding door of the display room opened, and Norio appeared in the doorway. The other courtesans bowed their heads in respect at his arrival, and waited with their heads down as he closed the door behind him and sat down, the hems of his pale violet kimono rustling against the mat. The door was slid open again, this time the Master appearing.

“Norio, you’re late. I rang the bell already a while ago,” he said sternly from behind his round glasses. Although everyone knew that the Master gave Norio special treatment because of the cash he brought in, there was still the pretence of scolding.

"Oh, I am ever so sorry,” Norio replied, his thin eyebrows arching with evident sadness. “My breath was taken away by the colours streaking the sky tonight. A sight to behold, yes, surely you must forgive me, Master,” he continued, actually managing to sound apologetic with his flimsy excuse.

The Master only huffed and mumbled something about a punishment for next time before shutting the door with slightly too much force. Kazuhira, as well as the others, knew Norio would receive no punishment, or if he would, it would a mild one, purely for show.

Another man approached the lattice, dressed in the garb of a monk. It was not unusual for monks to visit male brothels, although Kazuhira found their activities in the room to be quite monotonous. Apparently something in the scriptures they read encouraged them to touch the prostitute as little as possible, and so they rarely laid a hand on Kazuhira for more than was absolutely necessary. The young men in the display room cast glances at the monk, each trying to seduce him before a word had been said.

“Thou must be Norio,” he said with his archaic form of speech, leering at the courtesan in question. “Truly, thou art as fetching as my fellows described. I would verily wish to try thine graces for myself,” the monk continued. Kazuhira was this close to rolling his eyes at the wooing attempt. There was no need to court a prostitute, you only needed to walk inside and give a name to the staff and the man of your choice would come. But Norio only smiled meekly.

“My lord, I am indeed the one they call Norio, and I would be honoured to attend to such a man of spirit as yourself.”

The monk rubbed his rosary in his hands, hurrying inside the brothel to claim his prize.

“Kazuhira, look!” The youth next to Kazuhira nudged him with his elbow, whispering loudly. “A foreigner!”

Kazuhira craned his neck to see whom Renichi had seen. The man was tall, so it was easy to spot him walking on the street. He was dressed in simple Western clothing, with a dark jacket that reminded Kazuhira of the soldiers before. The foreigner’s trousers were light grey in colour, with dark boots covered in mud on his feet. Instead of wearing a neat scarf around his neck as many respectable men dressed in Western gear did, he wore a scarf around his head, the long tails flailing after him. Around his waist he carried a knife and a satchel of some kind.

Kazuhira couldn’t help but stare. Was that the kind of man his father had been? He always felt a fleeting connection looking at any Western person, the ridiculous notion of hope sizzling in the back of his head. Hope, that maybe that person knew Kazuhira, maybe they could understand him and what he had gone through, maybe even knew his mother or his father. Kazuhira knew this to be a folly, but couldn’t suppress the thought springing up.

“Look, look look! He’s turning this way!” Renichi was abuzz, nervously fixing the collar of his dress. The courtesan with the shy persona had a lust for Western men, claiming they were all so good in bed. The barkers eyed at the foreigner, unsure whether to approach him with a sales pitch or not.

“My lord, what a handsome man you are!” Renichi started and stood up to get closer to the lattice. Kazuhira supposed he might be handsome by Western standards. The foreigner had chestnut brown hair that was cut short, and a pair of sharp blue eyes. The bandanna on his forehead made his expression seem to be in a deep frown, covering his eyebrows completely. His face was framed with a short, trimmed beard with a moustache to match. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty years of age.

“How do I meet you?” the foreigner asked with surprisingly good Japanese. His speech was curt and terse, straight to the point. Renichi became flustered at the gaze of those serious eyes, fidgeting with his sleeve.

“My lord, it is quite simple. All you need to do is walk right in through the entrance and give my name – Renichi - to the front staff,” he cooed, the shy persona forgotten. “The staff will guide you to a private room on the second floor, and I will follow you there shortly.” He reached between the lattice bars to touch the foreigner’s chest. “My lord, I will take very good care of you,” Renichi continued, practically throwing himself on the man.

“Not you, him,” the foreigner said and pointed at Kazuhira. The blonde gave a tight smile, having dreaded to be in this situation again. While Renichi would have loved to have all the Western customers for himself, he would often be disappointed as they wanted something more familiar instead. The shorter courtesan at the lattice clenched his jaw, smiling patiently.

“My lord, surely a great man like yourself would be excited to try something new instead of having what you have always had?” he tried, doing his best to maximise his charm. But the foreigner’s steely gaze didn’t shift.

“What is your name?” the foreigner asked, blue eyes meeting blue.

“Kazuhira, my lord,” Kazuhira answered, bowing his head.

The foreigner contemplated something for a while, ignoring Renichi’s flirtation. His intense stare unnerved Kazuhira somewhat, stories about all Western men being brutal beasts skimming his mind. He wasn’t going to get hurt, right?

Renichi accepted his defeat as the foreigner started for the entrance, paying him no mind.

“Why do you always get them?” he asked Kazuhira, but only mock-angry.

“Always, you say, when you’ve been working here longer than I have!”

“You’ll have to tell me everything tomorrow,” Renichi demanded, before the sliding door slowly opened.

“Kazuhira, you have a customer.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the rating bounced up to Explicit. Take notice.

Kazuhira felt slightly nervous as he halted in front of the room where his customer was waiting for him. He could hear his fellow courtesan’s titter from the opposite room, no doubt in response to a joke heard a thousand times before. Kazuhira took note of the black leather shoes on the hallway floor in front of his room. He knelt down parallel to the sliding door.

“Excuse me,” he said, loud enough for the customer inside to hear him, but not too loud as to bother the other rooms. The walls were thin after all although the rooms at Lotus Shadow were all private. Kazuhira had heard of brothels where two or even four customers could be served simultaneously in one room, each separated from each other by just folding screens. At least having a room gave a greater illusion of privacy.

“Come in.”

At the command, Kazuhira pulled open the screen - always elegantly with the fingertips of both hands - and bowed his head down in courtesy and respect.

“My lord, I am called Kazuhi—“

“Kazuhira! It’s been a long time!”

The blonde youth lifted his head in surprise. The man sitting cross-legged in the room wasn’t the foreigner he had seen outside just now, but someone he knew.

“Lord Nishigawa!” he exclaimed with what he hoped was enough glee and surprise to disguise his sudden disappointment. Had he been looking forward to seeing the foreigner that much? Shaking every thought of the blue-eyed stranger from his head, he made to close the sliding door with the proper procedure and elegance required. First he stood up, only to take a few steps inside the room and kneel down again on the straw mat to slide the door close. It had taken Kazuhira plenty of patience to learn all the intricate rules of behaviour expected of him.

“Were you expecting someone else, hmm?” Nishigawa asked, amused. He was a government official in his fifties, representing the prefecture at court. The man had a round, pleasant-looking face, with a neat black moustache above his upper lip. Dark, intelligent eyes peered at Kazuhira. Even at this late hour, he was still dressed in a smart three-piece black suit, the chain of his pocket watch peeking under his jacket. His short, black hair was parted on one side and forced into neatness with hair wax, giving it a shine in the soft light of the room.

“I did not see you outside, my lord, so I was pleasantly surprised,” Kazuhira smiled, rising on his feet. The long hem of his kimono trailed at his heels as he sauntered to sit next to his patron. The room was decorated with simplicity and lit with candles instead of electricity. Only the Master’s office had electrical lights, making use of the town recently being incorporated in the electric grid. So candlelight it was for the rooms where customers were greeted, glowing with softness from the raised paper lanterns.

Nishigawa sat behind a small, low table of polished wood with a sake set, beckoning Kazuhira to come closer. There was not much else in the terms of furniture in the room; a futon bed of vermillion fabric and a folding screen painted with motifs of vibrant flowers and dainty butterflies. A shamisen lay on a small side table. The walls covered with woven bamboo were painted with pink cherry blossom petals descending from the ceiling and collecting at the floor level.

“How are you, my lord?” Kazuhira asked and poured more sake in his customer’s shallow cup.

“All is well, my flower,” the older man replied agreeably, taking a small sip of the room-temperature liquor. Kazuhira had a special connection with the man, as Nishigawa had been his very first customer. Apparently, Kazuhira had not disappointed him, for he had come back twice already in the short month after Kazuhira’s debut.

“My wife sends you her greetings,” Nishigawa continued. “She already thinks that our marriage has improved with my visits here. Truly a mutually beneficial liaison!”

Kazuhira bowed his head, letting the hair gathered in a ponytail fall over his shoulder. “I am most pleased to hear that, my lord,” he said while reiterating the mantra of _soft, demure, elegant_ in the back of his mind. It had not been easy for him to fit in with these ideals, as his own personality was far from them. Eventually, he had been taught that he shouldn’t try to change his own personality, but slip into a role of a courtesan when interacting with customers. Indeed, if one had listened to the prostitutes taking a bath in the morning, they were like completely different people with their uncouth speech and loud laughter.

“Could I please my lord further with some music?” Kazuhira asked, glancing over to the shamisen in the corner. The prostitutes at Lotus Shadow were not high class enough to be required skills in all fine arts such as the geisha in some teahouses, but instead were allowed to specialize in one art of choice, whether it was shamisen or koto, song or dance, poetry or calligraphy.

“Not tonight, my blossom, I promised my wife that I would be at home for the night so I shall not stay for long,” the older man said courteously, emptying his cup of liquor. Kazuhira was quick to pour him some more, as it would be impolite to make his client ask for more sake.

“Ah, Kazuhira. You are truly beautiful as a shining jewel. Nothing along the likes of the foreigner I saw in the front room,” Nishigawa continued, setting down his cup to caress his young lover’s cheek.

“Oh? I thought I saw him enter. Did you see what happened to him?” Kazuhira asked, expression tinged with perhaps a dash too much of excitement. But his customer only chuckled.

“I gathered that he was a first-timer, because the staff was explaining the house rules to him,” he explained, outlining Kazuhira’s soft lips with his thumb.

“In the end, I’m not sure what the problem was; his reluctance of handing over his weapons or the slightness of his coin purse.” The hand on Kazuhira’s face slid downwards, fingertips reaching just inside of the collar of his kimono, evoking the smallest of gasps from the youth.

“So… he left then, my lord?” Kazuhira asked, carrying on the conversation. He sensed his breath quickening at the slightest of touches, his young body primed for this kind of response.

“I suppose he did,” Nishigawa scoffed. “And I say good riddance; the man looked like a ruffian.” The hand slid against Kazuhira’s skin with a little more strength, forcing the fabric to slide off a slender shoulder.

“Absolutely nothing like you, Kazuhira, my flowering youth,” he continued, placing a chaste kiss on the revealed skin, just above the collarbone. Kazuhira kept still as he had been taught, allowing the customer to mould him as he pleased.

“Your soft skin… your lustrous hair… So beautiful,” Nishigawa carried on showering his young lover with praise as his hands and lips explored more skin.

The courting of a prostitute just didn’t make sense to Kazuhira. They were already at the customer’s disposal, their willingness arranged with the tawdry exchange of coin. Both parties were fully aware of the spectacle presented between them; the customer pretending that this prostitute was the only one he visited, and the prostitute pretending that he had no other clients. A poor mimicry of an affair, where the words spoken were as empty as the hearts of the transitory lovers.

Kazuhira also knew the trouble and danger of feelings involved in this line of work, especially from the side of the courtesan. During his training, he had witnessed the dramatic events that romantic feelings could evoke when a prostitute had rather killed himself than continued to live without his loved one. Therein laid the danger of living in such small circles; the world itself seemed to be reduced only to the mockery of love, a distorted view foreign to those outside the pleasure quarter.

Although for the courtesan, it was beneficial if he could stir feelings of attachment of some kind in his customer. A few would always fall madly in love with their prostitute, or rather, with the image their prostitute projected during their time together. But it was easier to ban troublemaking customers than to quench the poor heart of an unlucky courtesan.

The pair had moved to the lush futon, Kazuhira being laid on his side with his patron behind him. Kazuhira could feel the older man’s stiff member pressing into his backside, his hands roving on his body, dipping between the layers of his kimono. He crowded into the embrace, spreading his legs. His breathing was considerably louder now, drowning the rustle of silk and cotton rubbing against each other. Soft, demure, elegant, rang the mantra in his head.

Nishigawa was a typical client in the fashion that he touched Kazuhira everywhere except his genitals. Some customers didn’t care whether the prostitute got off or not while others were pleased with simply looking at their aroused state. In their discussions, the workers at Lotus Shadow suspected that some customers tried to avoid recognizing them as males although none ever asked the customer. Then there were the exceptions that did touch the prostitutes’ cocks, even making sure they orgasmed as well.

“Ah!” escaped Kazuhira’s lips as his butt was squeezed. Touching his rear was a sure-fire way to get him hard although he wasn’t sure whether the reaction was a conditioned reflex or just something he really enjoyed. Not that the source mattered at this point anymore.

“You really like that, my blossom,” Nishigawa said, voice husky, lifting up the hem of Kazuhira’s kimono above the sash at his waist. Another typical quirk of his customers; they would often only reveal what was needed of Kazuhira’s body, and leave the rest of his body dressed. The same applied to the customers themselves though.

“Yes, my lord,” Kazuhira whispered meekly, reaching for a small pillow to bury his face in. _Demure, demure, demure_ he kept chanting internally, feeling shivers run up and down his body as his customer pressed a finger to his entrance, rubbing in soft circles. He knew he shouldn’t give into the pleasure, that he should keep his wits about him and stay in control of the situation, manipulate the scene. But his experiences with sex were still fresh, not set into boring routines and touches that wouldn’t excite him.

“Would you prepare yourself for me, Kazuhira?” the older man asked, releasing Kazuhira from his embrace.

“Yes, my lord,” the youth repeated and rose on all fours to be able to reach the small earthenware jar at the head of the futon. The contents of the jar was a jelly-like substance made from grating yam, the result being a grease light in colour and soft in texture. Kazuhira dipped his fingers in it, keeping the jar close by as he brought his hand to his rear. Leaning on his forearm, he spread his legs for his customer to see better and pressed a single finger inside.

His patron rose to remove his jacket, and draped it neatly on the folding screen while Kazuhira worked himself open with small gasps and the tiniest of moans fleeing his lips.

“Come now, Kazuhira,” the man said, stroking himself through his trousers. “Don’t be shy. I like to hear those cries of yours.”

Kazuhira only mumbled something inaudible into the pillow, adding more lubricant and hurrying up the work of his fingers. He could hear his patron unbuckling his belt behind him, and the swish of fabric as he pulled his trousers off. Those, too, were neatly placed over the folding screen, so that the man would look presentable even after he left.

A string of short gasps escaped Kazuhira’s lips as he delved his fingers deeper, his own erection jutting hard between his legs. He felt Nishigawa kneel behind him, felt the warmth radiating from his body. Kazuhira knew he would be flushed by now, a warm pink colour spreading from his cheeks to his chest, painting a streak or red down his back.

A hand was placed on his lower back, so Kazuhira withdrew his fingers from his body and braced himself on his forearms. Closing his eyes, he felt the blunt head of his patron’s prick poking at his entrance, the hot hardness pressing inside his supple body.

“Ahhhn!” Kazuhira cried out as the cockhead breached him, trying his best to keep his body relaxed. While Nishigawa’s was not the largest member he had taken, it was still wider than the two of his fingers, and so different in feeling. He was breathing heavily now, further aroused by the hand gently soothing his rear.

“You feel always so good, Kazuhira,” the older man murmured, sighing audibly as he got as close to Kazuhira as he could, pushing the youth’s legs further apart.

“That’s it,” he continued, “Accept me, my flower.”

Kazuhira moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew that being lewd was in poor taste, but what could he do when a man’s prick up his ass felt this satisfying? Or perhaps this sensation was just the result of very good training, so good that even his mind and body were fooled into enjoying the act.

It didn’t take long for Nishigawa to start thrusting in earnest, hands on Kazuhira’s slim hips for purchase. Soon the slapping sound of skin against skin and Kazuhira’s gasps permeated the room, peppered with his patron’s carnal grunts.

“H-how can you always feel so tight, my blossom,” the older man faltered in his words, apparently racing towards a quick release. Kazuhira had tried to keep still under his customer’s onslaught, but couldn’t help rocking his hips back in time with each thrust, urging Nishigawa to go faster, go harder.

“I will--, ngh—paint your beautiful skin,” he said, speeding up his thrusts until Kazuhira had to bite down on the pillow to muffle his cries.

“Oh, oh, Kazuhira--!” the patron cried, and quickly pulled out to release his seed on Kazuhira’s lower back. The blonde youth held his breath, arms and legs trembling as he felt the hot liquid spill on his back, drops sputtering with a groan from his client.

When his breath had settled, Nishigawa took a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his vest and wiped himself clean with it. Supporting himself on Kazuhira’s frame, he stood up and made to redress himself.

“So soon…?” Kazuhira asked, breathless, flopping down on his stomach, his erection trapped between skin and fabric. His customer only hummed in agreement, pulling his trousers on and buckling his belt.

“I told you, my flower, I promised to return to my wife for the night,” he explained with warmth in his voice. He looked at the mess he had made of his young lover; the dishevelled state of dress, the blonde strands escaped from his ponytail and the cum dripping down his back.

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

Kazuhira shivered, but made himself to pull up and sit on his knees, awkwardly trying to cover his erection with his kimono. His breath shuddered as he bowed down, keeping his eyes cast downwards.

“Thank you, my lord. I hope to see you soon again,” he said, words trembling.

“Farewell, Kazuhira,” were the parting words of Nishigawa. Kazuhira continued to keep his head down, listening to the sound of the sliding door opening and closing. It wasn’t until he heard the staff downstairs bid farewell to the client with loud cheers of “thank you, sir!” and “please come again, sir!” that he let himself slump down on the futon, groaning.

He reached into the sleeve of his kimono and procured a worn piece of cloth, doing his best to wipe his back clean. With a sigh, he let his hand wander to his prick, starting to jerk off with a muffled noise. He couldn’t think straight with all the lust in his blood, he had to come and clear his mind. He breathed loudly through his nose, hand speeding up in pace, the motions familiar. Kazuhira kept his head blank, focusing completely on the sensations burning through his body. He could feel getting close now, not needing many strokes more to come.

But as his release washed over him like the rushing wave of the ocean, his mind suddenly conjured up, unbidden, unwanted, the image of the blue-eyed foreigner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that a day would come when I would be researching the history of personal lubricants for a fic. :D 
> 
> Follow me on statisticsfag.tumblr.com for (nsfw) fanart. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over foreign language text to see a translation in English.

Recovering from the night’s first customer was always the most strenuous. After the second or even third customer – if it was a busy night – Kazuhira found it easier to clean himself with a damp cloth, retie his hair and redo his kimono. But after the first client left, he was always overwhelmed with the desire to just go to sleep or at the very least, do absolutely nothing for the rest of the night. He couldn’t explain why it was like this, when theoretically he should be more tired after the third customer of the night than the first.

He carded his fingers through his blond locks, gathering them atop his head, when a small voice called out to him. Before Kazuhira had time to answer, the sliding door shifted open and a young boy bowed low enough that his forehead hit the floor.

“Ah, Shou, thank you.”

The boy, a trainee, dashed into the room and lit sticks of incense. Kazuhira had done the same tasks many times over, refreshing the room between the courtesan’s customers. Shou never looked at Kazuhira directly, keeping his eyes to the floor as much as possible. Kazuhira wasn’t sure whether the raven-haired boy did it out of respect or some kind of disgust.

The trainee in his simple dress continued to tidy the room, rolling up the red futon to replace it with a fresh one. It was a comical sight as the rolled up futon was larger than the boy. Kazuhira let him patter along with his business, fixing the state of his own dress to be presentable again. The boy disappeared and reappeared once more, this time with a new bowl of ice to keep the liquor cool.

“Master says that you have a booking,” Shou said timidly as he finished flattening the fresh futon. Kazuhira smiled and reached into the sleeve of his blue kimono.

“Thank you again. Here, have some candy,” he said, presenting a small pouch of wrapping paper. But the trainee just bowed deeply again and sprinted out of the door.

“Huh. I guess he doesn’t like me,” Kazuhira thought aloud. He put the pouch back into his sleeve and knelt down next to the small table. He tried to clear his head of all thought, finding energy in calmness as he was taught. He could still feel the usual jitter before meeting a customer. He told himself it was useless to wonder what kind of person the next client would be, as he would soon find out.

Before long, he could hear footsteps stopping in front of his room. Kazuhira perked at the sound of shoes scuffling, forming a look on his face which he hoped would be elegant and welcoming.

“良いなぁ、こんな所で顔なじみなんて,” spoke the man happily as he passed into the room. Indeed, the very same man Kazuhira had spotted outside earlier; the foreigner wearing the curious bandanna.

“Ah- huh?” Kazuhira blinked, giving an awkward smile. He did not understand the foreigner’s words. But he had spoken Japanese outside the shop earlier, right?

“You… don’t speak English? Français? Русский?” the man asked, gesturing with his hands.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I can only speak Japanese,” Kazuhira explained meekly, lowering his eyes.

“Ah well, should’ve guessed,” the man said with a click of his tongue. “I thought you were a foreigner too. It would have been nice to talk in English with someone,” he said, clearly disappointed.

Kazuhira could feel his cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment. Although he had realized before that this kind of situation might happen, he certainly didn’t expect to have a customer barging in, spouting strange words at him like that. Why didn’t he ask first?! And where had he gone before?

“But you are so skilled at Japanese, my lord,” Kazuhira complimented, trying to salvage the situation. “Please have a seat and let me pour you some sake, my lord.”

The dark-haired man scowled, apparently weighing his options. “I suppose I could,” he agreed eventually, slouching down to sit cross-legged next to the small table. Inwardly, Kazuhira wondered why the man chose to sit unconventionally with his back towards the door. He wouldn’t be able to see if someone came in, essentially leaving him defenceless. Did he have nothing to fear, or was he just careless?

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kazuhira, and I will be serving you tonight,” Kazuhira prattled out, realizing his err in etiquette. He raised his head, capturing his client’s eyes. His trick was to rise back up slow enough for the customer to catch a peek inside his kimono, just a glimpse of his bare chest really, but hopefully enough to spark an interest to see more. He felt immediately some of his confidence return as he noticed the man’s eyes linger a moment too long on his body to be courteous. The young prostitute poured the cool, clear liquid into a clean cup and pushed it towards his customer with his fingertips.

Kazuhira used the moment to get a better look at his new customer. He was older than Kazuhira, that much was certain, but not by decades. His hair didn’t have any grey in it, and although his face seemed worn and rugged, it didn’t have that many lines on it. His blue eyes didn’t have the weariness of an older man either.

“I thought I saw you outside, my lord. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?” Kazuhira asked politely, unable to keep his eyes wandering across the man’s features. He wished the man would take the strip of cloth around his head off, so that Kazuhira could see his eyes better. Perhaps he was hiding something under it, something like a scar?

“Not really. I didn’t realize I’d have to leave my sidearm with your people and the gun I was carrying…” The man’s words slowed down until they halted. He shrugged his shoulders, taking another sip of sake. “I went back to my lodgings and left it there instead. And when I came back, the guy at the front said you were busy.”

Kazuhira nodded with reaffirming sounds while his customer spoke. He wasn’t sure whether his patron was lying, making an excuse for not having enough money, but it didn’t really matter after all. “Are you a soldier then, or a policeman, my lord?”

“John.”

“My lord?” Kazuhira was perplexed.

“Call me John,” the man replied, the gruff creeping back into his voice.

“As you wish, lord Joon,” the blonde smiled happily, mangling the name. But John only groaned.

“I’m not a lord so don’t call me one. Just John, please.”

Kazuhira nodded uncertainly. Did he not want to be respected? Kazuhira had thought that part of the experience at Lotus Shadow was the resplendence of being waited on hand and foot, exceeding the ordinary respect towards a customer of any kind.

“As you wish, lo-… Joon,” he spoke softly.

“ _John._ Anyways, I’m a mercenary. A soldier for hire,” John explained. Kazuhira’s sky blue eyes widened.

“A mercenary? That sounds fascinating!” he burst out in amazement. John let out a small laugh.

“Do you travel a lot? Where did you come from?” Kazuhira continued barraging his patron with excited questions, before getting the better of his curiosity. “Th-that is, if I may ask.”

“Sure, I don’t mind. I’m originally from America. But I’ve travelled a lot with mercenary work. I came to Japan from Shanghai. I actually visited a place like this there,” John said in a conversational tone, looking around the room.

“In Shanghai?” Kazuhira tilted his head, interested in hearing more.

“Yeah. It wasn’t as open as this place though, not any man could waltz in and order a girl.”

Kazuhira nodded, leaning over to pour more sake for his customer, and if he accidentally bumped his thigh into John, well, it couldn’t have been on purpose.

“I got in via a friend of mine. It was a nice place, although most of the time we just ate with the girls. I don’t really understand why anyone would want to pay such large sums for that.”

“Oh, so they weren’t courtesans?” Kazuhira asked, referring in his mind to the high-class teahouses in the district. The women who worked there were definitely prostitutes.

“They were, but… I don’t know, it was pretty complicated. The girls wanted to marry their clients… The food was really good though.”

Kazuhira was impressed with John’s language skills. He did have that strange lilt in his speech that most foreigners had, and together with the softer consonants they sounded like they had a perpetual cold. He couldn’t criticize John anyways, not with himself only knowing yes and no in English.

“My lo--,” Kazuhira started wrongly again. “…Joon. Could I entertain you with some music?”

“Music? Sure, why not,” John said, emptying his cup, seemingly accepting the mispronunciation. He reached for the ceramic flask at the exact same time as Kazuhira did, and their fingertips touched on the cool surface of the flask.

“…Joon. Please, allow me,” Kazuhira said, eyes downcast, a small smile playing on his face. This man was certainly strange, stranger than any other foreigner Kazuhira had met. Starting out in a different language, sitting on the wrong side of the table, not wanting to be called lord, attempting to pour his own drink… Most unusual. And it felt so strange to call him by name.

John receded, viewing the little ceremony of Kazuhira pouring more sake for him, pulling the sleeve of his kimono back to present a slender wrist. The blonde courtesan proceeded to fetch his instrument from the side of the room, placing it comfortably on the top of his thighs. He kept quiet as he picked up the white wooden plectrum, tortoise shell or ivory being far too luxurious for Lotus Shadow. He plucked the strings experimentally, making some final tunings to his instrument. The song he wanted to play came quickly into his mind.

“This tune is called ‘A Good Day for a Journey’,” Kazuhira said, nerves acting up again. It seemed that no matter how much he practised the shamisen, he never felt completely confident with his skills. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before strumming out the first notes. It wasn’t a happy tune, but a more soulful one, not the kind you dance and make merry to. It reminded Kazuhira of the times he’d stared out from behind the lattice covering his window, wondering about the world beyond the few acres of the pleasure district. Somehow he felt it fitting to the situation. After a few introductory bars, he raised his voice in song:

_“The distant waves, the rust-coloured lull of the sea_  
_The sepia clouds that flow past, where are they going?_  
_I carry with me the dream of the days spent_  
_Chasing fox silhouettes, and so I go West_  
_Ah, somewh--”_

“Can you stop--?” came the anguished plea of his customer. Kazuhira had been so wrapped in his music that he had failed to notice John’s increased squirming. He froze mid-word, a few solitary notes drifting in the air between them. He didn’t even get to the best part of the song!

“I, I’m sorry, you didn’t like it?” Kazuhira asked. He was simultaneously embarrassed and angry; did the man have no manners at all, interrupting his performance like that?! The term ‘uncultured swine’ floated to the front of his mind.

“Ah, the tune is nice, I guess, but your voice… I suppose I’m not used to the Japanese way of singing,” John offered lamely. Kazuhira flushed red, shocked at such direct words of abuse. He was very well aware that his singing voice wasn’t the best in the Quarter, or even in the House, but that was uncalled for. Kazuhira gritted his teeth, doing his utmost to not storm out of the room. Soft, demure, elegant, he repeated in his mind over and over again.

“I will practise singing more, Joon,” he said with patience, and continued to pluck the three strings on his shamisen with less tension now. As the wistful melody played on, Kazuhira could see his customer relaxing, even closing his eyes for a moment. At least he seemed to like the instrumental music, Kazuhira supposed. As the melody ebbed and the final notes disappeared into the summer night, Kazuhira bowed once more, returning his instrument.

“You know, you can call me Snake if you want to,” John said, openly staring at the young courtesan’s backside.

“Snake? Like the animal?” Kazuhira asked, turning just in time to see where John’s eyes had been. Perhaps this would turn into a good encounter yet, the blonde thought with a smirk.

“Yeah. You’re not the first one who has trouble pronouncing my name. My mercenary buddies gave the name to me,” he pointed out. Kazuhira thought it somehow suitable, an animal for a nickname. It wasn’t the first odd thing about the man.

Kazuhira strode back to sit next to his patron. “Why would they call you a snake? You don’t look like one,” he joked cheerfully. John chuckled, a good sign.

“I fight like one. I’ll creep on the ground, so quiet that you won’t hear or see me coming,” he described, hunching his shoulders as if demonstrating his stealthy advancement. “And when I’m close enough, I’ll attack!”

Kazuhira let out a gasp as he was abruptly pushed down on his back, pinned by his wrists to the floor, John’s face above his. “You won’t see me coming until it’s too late,” John said with a lazy smirk.

Kazuhira could agree on the swiftness, John’s surprise attack came out of the blue and the speed of his movements was amazing. He could easily now see the similarities to a snake, lashing out with a sudden attack. The blonde thought he must have got quite the scare, because his heart was beating fast and loud in his chest. His sky blue eyes stared into John’s, imagining they were the colour of the ocean. Why was his heart beating so loud, his nerves making their appearance again?

It could only have been a few moments until John let go of Kazuhira’s wrists, even though it felt like hours. Kazuhira was mesmerized, staring at this strange foreigner, and without really knowing why, reached up and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, pulling him down for a crushing kiss.

“Hmpf!” It seemed that John was not expecting it, judging by the muffled sound of surprise he let out. The initial shock wore off in a moment; John’s eyes fell shut, his forehead relaxing. Kazuhira felt dizzy as John started to move his warm lips, feeling the texture against his own smooth ones. The other man smelled different somehow and his breath had the homey taste of sake and cigarettes and something sweet. Kazuhira thought it was honey, sweet and sticky, dripping down his lips with each passing moment and further into his mouth. John braced himself on his forearms on either side of Kazuhira’s head, fingers entangling themselves in his soft hair.

The blonde let out a soft sigh as John traced the seam of his lips with his tongue, taking advantage of the sound to slide his tongue inside Kazuhira’s warm mouth. As their noses bumped, Kazuhira’s eyes fluttered close, he had never felt a kiss like this. Open mouthed, sure, but not like this. Not a kiss that was liquid honey, now trickling into his mouth, down his throat, into his lungs. Yes, that must have been the reason he felt short of breath. He smoothed down John’s shoulders, feeling a strange tingling sensation in his own shoulders.

Ah, Kazuhira thought. Maybe John truly was a snake, a venomous snake, and now Kazuhira was bitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so in real life, a Japanese person wouldn't have a lot of trouble to pronounce 'John' properly, but for the purpose of plot... ;) 
> 
> The song referenced is [Ii Hi Tabidachi, Nishi E](http://www.jpopsuki.tv/video/Chihiro-Onitsuka---Ii-Hi-Tabidachi-Nishi-e/f05d38935d4ab06c6ba4bbd5d207dc2b) by Chihiro Onitsuka. Originally the song is by Momoe Yamaguchi, but I like Chihiro Onitsuka's lyrics better than the original. 
> 
> Also a big hug to everyone who reads and comments on my silly little story. <3 Special thanks to elfriniol for the special support ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added some artwork [to the first chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5257487/chapters/12130778). :)

Kazuhira had never been poisoned before, but he knew the symptoms. Enlarged pupils, increased rate of breathing, heart beating faster and louder. As the kiss went on and on, becoming wetter and hotter, he just knew, or at least hoped he was poisoned. Because if he was this aroused by a customer, he might be in trouble. Could he control himself, restrain himself from letting go and at worst, forgetting all about the customer’s pleasure? This was exactly the kind of thing he had been warned about. Get excited, yes, but not overmuch.

John slid a rough hand under Kazuhira’s kimono, caressing the soft skin of his chest, tentatively touching his pink nipples. Kazuhira let his hands drop from around John’s neck, letting them flop on the mat-covered floor. He had to be quieter, stiller, in order to make up for the mistake of rushing his client with a hungry kiss like that. John pulled away from the kiss, his trimmed beard scratching and tickling the prostitute’s skin as he took his mouth lower to join his fingers playing on Kazuhira’s chest.

Kazuhira bit his lip as John tugged at his kimono, pulling it loose to reveal more skin. John’s breath was warm against his skin, the trail of his lips burning and Kazuhira feared his heart might burst out from his chest. His nipple was teased until it hardened into a peak, John closing in on the other one with his mouth. Kazuhira had to clench his fists, fingernails biting into skin as John licked around his nipple, breathing hard through his nose.

“You don’t… like this?” John suddenly asked, raising his head. The bandana he still wore made his expression seem like a scowl; his eyes staring directly at Kazuhira, lips shiny with saliva. Kazuhira nodded eagerly.

“I-I do like it,” he breathed out, rubbing his legs together. He could already feel lust making him swell.

“You’re not responding,” John stated, sitting up. He wasn’t going to leave, was he? Panic grasped Kazuhira.

“But the ideal male lover is soft, demure and elegant!” he blurted out quickly.

“What?” John sounded stupefied. “Is that some kind of cultural thing? And what do you even mean by ‘demure’?”

“It means restrained, quiet, modest, chaste…” Kazuhira went on, embarrassed to have to say it out loud, shrinking into himself.

“Chaste?” John let out a rumbling laugh. “If I wanted someone chaste, I wouldn’t go to a whorehouse now, would I?”

Kazuhira blushed. The man had a point, sort of. But what about selling a dream to the customers, an ideal of a perfect, devoted lover, even if it’s just make-believe. Was it really so different abroad? Were all the prostitutes just flesh to be sold, instead of an image of something lovely?

“B-but…” Kazuhira started, stammering.

“Listen. I’m not Japanese. I don’t want you to act like a dead fish when I touch you. If something I do make you feel good, I want you to tell me. It doesn’t have to be words, but I want to know.” John’s voice was admonishing and Kazuhira felt he was getting a scolding, or a lecture.

“As you wish,” Kazuhira agreed, forehead wrinkled. Everything about this man, this John, was so different, so peculiar. But also new and astonishing and remarkable. And contradictory, clearly stating that he was buying a whore for the night, but at the same time caring about Kazuhira’s pleasure.

John pulled at Kazuhira’s sash, failing with a grumble to work out how it was tied. This was more familiar to Kazuhira, so he jumped at the opportunity to help, deftly undoing the bow on the petal-embroidered sash. He had to lift his hips to loosen the long sash enough to unwrap himself.

“Maybe the futon would be more comfortable?” Kazuhira suggested, gaining back some self-confidence. Although the tatami mat did give some beneath footsteps, it felt hard under his back and it couldn’t be nice for John either. The older man agreed, rising from the floor. Kazuhira was pleased to see his trousers bulging at the front. At least John wasn’t completely put off by that episode. He started to undress himself, popping open the buttons on the black vest he wore underneath his jacket. He turned to watch Kazuhira get up, his kimono open but still hanging from his shoulders, framing his lithe body. There was a splotch of red on Kazuhira’s chest, flush blooming on his skin, if the state of his erection wasn’t enough to convince John of his enjoyment.

“Just how old are you anyways?” John asked, eyeing Kazuhira’s body from top to toe, sounding slightly hesitant. He shrugged off his coat and vest, pulling the tails of his shirt from his trousers.

“I’ll be eighteen next week. You’re welcome to join the party,” Kazuhira said with a smile he hoped would be seducing as he approached the futon.

“Huh, not bad. Eleven years younger than me then,” John commented off-hand, shuffling to get out of his trousers. Unlike Kazuhira’s previous client, John didn’t bother draping his clothes over the folding screen, or even folding them nicely, he just let them fall to the floor in heaps and puddles. Apparently mercenaries didn’t place much value on the neatness of their clothes. John wore a pair of light coloured drawers beneath his clothes, the thin textile leaving nothing to imagination. His body was muscular, a wide chest and slender hips, the strength of his body evident.

“Leave it on,” John instructed as Kazuhira tried to shrug off his kimono. It didn’t exactly cover a lot while open, only his arms in the long sleeves, but Kazuhira was happy to comply. At least it wasn’t any different than with his usual customers. John had sat down on the red futon and was pulling at the blue fabric, tugging Kazuhira closer.

“It looks good on you,” John murmured as he pulled Kaz down into his lap, raising his knees to trap the younger man there. Kazuhira couldn’t help but blush again. There it was again, praise for a prostitute. Why didn’t a compliment from John feel trite? The thought slipped his mind as John skid his hands under Kazuhira’s kimono, those calloused hands finding his rump and softly caressing.

“Oh!” Kazuhira gasped, tilting his hips back into the touch. His hands flew to John’s shoulders again, only now noticing the crisscross of scars and old wounds marring his skin, such a contrast to Kazuhira’s own unblemished skin.

“That’s better,” John praised. “How else am I going to know what makes you feel good?” His hands squeezed gently, eliciting another quiet gasp from Kazuhira.

“Why do you want to make me feel good? I don’t… understand,” Kazuhira exhaled, hands roaming across John’s shoulders, his chest, fingers returning to caress his face.

“I don’t like dead fishes, remember?” John said, taking advantage of Kazuhira’s collarbone situated just above his mouth, nipping and kissing the bare skin, hands caressing his back.

“But-“ Kazuhira started, still not understanding John’s odd mindset, but was cut off by another searing kiss and a warm tongue delving in his mouth.

“Just let me enjoy you for now,” John warned between the wet noises their mouths caused. Kazuhira kept his questions in his heart for now, hoping he’d get a chance to talk more with this man. But John was right; he was not here for a discussion or a lesson. He was here for sex.

Heartened, Kazuhira brought his hands up again to cup John’s bearded face, fingertips trailing the edge of the dark blue bandanna. “Can I take this off?” he asked carefully, not actually moving to remove it before gaining permission. Seeing all the scars on John’s body made Kazuhira believe even firmer that he was hiding an ugly scar on his forehead underneath the strip of fabric. John hummed an affirmative, and Kazuhira tipped the older man’s head back, sliding the fabric off his brow. To his amazement, there was no scar. John’s forehead was smooth and unmarred as the rest of his face. Apparently, this amazement showed on his face.

“What were you expecting?” John asked with amusement in his voice. Kazuhira only shook his head.

“I don’t know myself either. You look so handsome without it though,” he said, his compliment candid, fingers trailing John’s face with adoration. Kazuhira thought he could feel John’s prick twitch at that, and reached down to loosen the string holding his underwear. He felt John’s eyes on him, hungry and ravenous, as he slipped his hand in to pull John’s manhood out. Kazuhira met that gaze, seeing the lust in those blue eyes, and closed his hand around John’s cock, caressing slowly and smoothly. John’s prick was so swollen, a dark red in colour, tip glistening with clear drops of liquid. Kazuhira couldn’t help but whimper as he felt the full veins pushing through the silk-thin skin, already imagining how it would feel inside him.

John kept his hands in the vicinity of Kazuhira’s buttocks, never straying far up his back or sides or down his legs until returning, kneading, spreading, fingers dipping closer to his hole each time. The blonde felt the pressure of lust swirling inside him, making his prick throb and his ass clench in anticipation.

“John, please let me prepare myself,” Kazuhira whispered heatedly, shifting his weight in order to reach the earthenware jar. John’s hands loosened around him, letting him rise to his knees.

“Hey, you got it right this time,” John commented with a smile, shuffling to remove his underwear. Kazuhira chuckled nervously.

“H-how do you want me? Hands and knees?” he asked, heart thumping.

“No, as you were, on your back,” John said, moving over to make space for Kazuhira on the futon. The blonde just nodded, placing the jar on the futon before rolling down on his back. Dipping his fingers in the jelly-like substance, he spread his legs and got to work, wasting no time in pushing a finger inside. His own cock was erect against his abdomen, throbbing with each push and pull of his finger. He was still somewhat loose after his previous customer, and could have maybe done without any additional stretching. But he did enjoy greatly the way John licked his lips, eyes glued to the place where his finger disappeared inside him. John’s hands couldn’t keep off his skin, smoothing his inner thighs, caressing his knees, making Kazuhira shiver.

John settled closer, crowding the space between Kazuhira’s legs, his body radiating heat like a furnace. Kazuhira whined and added another finger, and then yet another, to quickly check whether he could take what his customer was expecting of him. He felt only little irritation, so he removed his hand, spreading his legs even wider, pushing his hips towards John.

Kazuhira could only stare in awe and expectation as John took himself in hand, lining himself up. From this angle, he did look like a beast to Kazuhira, something primal and unforgiving in the way he held himself, an animal lurking under the guise of a human. His first instinct was to cover his mouth with his hand as John pushed in, the stretch forcing the air from his lung, making his spine twist.

“None of that, remember?” John grumbled, swatting his hand away. “I want to know how you feel.”

Kazuhira couldn’t understand that sentiment, he just couldn’t. Why would John care like that for someone whose services he had bought?

“Good—It feels good,” he wailed, perhaps a bit louder than he intended. John started rocking into him with small movements, setting off sparks in his body, clouding his head. Kazuhira was only distantly aware of the sounds of the street below them, everything narrowing into their two bodies connecting, the loud breathing between them.

John leaned over the blonde, dipping his head to capture Kazuhira’s lips again. His strong hips thrust forward again and again, pushing out sweet moans out of Kazuhira. The blonde’s eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, his muscles contracting around John’s prick with every plunge. He was utterly pleased to see the tormented frown on John’s face, to hear the soft grunts between feverish kisses.

“Ahh! There, right there!” Kazuhira cried out suddenly, head falling back hard against the futon. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like he should be ashamed for saying that out loud, practically begging.

“See?” John asked, panting. “Not so hard after all.” He moved up, grabbing Kazuhira’s hips for better purchase. Kazuhira felt his legs shaking against John’s back, his breath sputtering with each forceful thrust. He couldn’t help his hand gripping his cock, pumping in time with John’s pushes, a slew of embarrassing noises spilling from his lips. He was so close now, he could feel his muscles twitching, contracting, making him curl up on himself.

“John, Joh- ah- Snake!“ he panted, words a jumble on his tongue as he came, white liquid sputtering over his stomach and his chest. He didn’t know whether it was his release or the nickname, but something in that moment turned John wild and feral, his thrusts becoming painfully hard, skin slapping harshly against skin.

“Aah! Ah! Snake!” Kazuhira cried out in desperation as he was fucked through his orgasm, body shuddering against the onslaught. But John just kept on moving, lost in finding his own pleasure now, seemingly not caring about whether his lover was in anguish or not. He was panting roughly, and soon his thrusts turned erratic in pace, hips moving on their own volition, unable to stop himself, before finally spilling his seed inside Kazuhira. The blonde felt rubbed raw and dizzy, letting out an undignified whimper when John pulled out, soon to be followed by a trail of come.

“That… was amazing,” John breathed out, rolling to the side with a groan. “I need a smoke,” he said, crawling to his trousers and the leather pouch attached to it. Kazuhira only hummed, his breath evening out, feeling so worn out. Soon the scent of a cigar wafted in the air, a smell of smoke and fresh grass.

Kazuhira sighed, shuffling on the futon, body relaxing completely. The desire to sleep was overwhelming now and he knew he wouldn’t be able to entertain any more customers tonight. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts, the warmness becoming heavy in his limbs, so he just watched as John started to find his clothes, slipping back into them.

“I hope you’ll come again, John,” Kazuhira finally spoke, not caring how enamoured the words might sound.

“Let’s hope so,” John replied cordially, snuffing the cigar out after a while in a small glass jar, also from the pouch. Genius, Kaz thought. There was so much worldliness to John that Kazuhira wanted to discover. He gathered himself with a groan upright to properly see his customer off. John was quick to dress, already fastening the bandanna around his head. He looked down at Kazuhira, a grin playing on his features. Kazuhira could only imagine how dishevelled he looked like, but apparently John liked it.

“Thank you for visiting,” Kazuhira said quietly, bowing down. He heard the rustle of cloth and footsteps, expecting to keep his head down until his customer had left the room. But instead, he felt a hand pulling him up by his shoulders, placing a last, quick kiss on his reddened lips. Kazuhira’s eyes widened for a moment, his mouth hanging open as he stared confused at his customer.

“See you around… Kaz,” John said with a grin before he turned on his heels and left.

“Kaz…” the blonde repeated, bewildered, touching his lips with the pads of his fingers. What on earth had he gotten into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider visiting [my tumblr account](http://statisticsfag.tumblr.com/) if you already haven't! :D


	5. Chapter 5

“He-hey, look at that! He’s walking!” came the shouted greeting when Kazuhira appeared at the communal bath house, clutching his towels. At the sound, many heads turned, and those friendly towards Kazuhira burst in laughter. After a moment of awkward silence from Kazuhira’s part, the prattle of bathers continued on.

“What?” Kazuhira bristled. He appeared to be the last one from Lotus Shadow to arrive at the bath house, his colleagues already washing themselves on the small wooden stools or bathing in the heated water. The bath house was not only for Lotus Shadow workers, but for any in the district. Male and female sides were of course separated, and many chose to stay grouped with their fellow housemates. Prostitutes would usually wake between nine and eleven in the morning, initiating the day with a bath before breaking their fast.

“’Aaah, Snake, aah, yes, yes, fuck me harder!’ I bet the entire Quarter could hear you scream last night!” his colleague, Yuu, performed, complete with dramatic gestures with his washcloth. “What kind of a weird name is Snake anyways?”

“Stop lying, you rat, I didn’t say that! Besides, he asked me to!” Kazuhira’s face flushed red, mortified. Had he really been that loud?

“Ohh, so you were acting? You should be in the theatre then, you would’ve fooled me into thinking you were really enjoying yourself!” Yuu laughed heartily.

Kazuhira just grumbled quietly to himself. He started preparing himself for a bath, dropping his towel and washcloth in order to remove his plain cotton robes. Indeed, by night the courtesans dressed in flashy, lustrous kimono, like flowers attracting honeybees. But by day, when they were off-duty, they wore kimonos of cheaper materials, with duller colours and far less details, resembling weeds more than flowers in bloom.

“Well, how was he, the foreigner?” asked Renichi, with a mix of jealousy and impatience in his words. He scuttled closer to the edge of the large rectangular bath, resting his arms on the edge of the bath. Kazuhira looked down, to the side, avoiding eye-contact with anyone close by.

“He was… nice,” Kazuhira finally offered, embarrassed further by the energetic hooting from his colleagues.

“Look at that face! Nice, he says, with a grin like that! He’s besotted!”

Kazuhira turned his back to his colleagues to try and salvage some of his ego. He had not meant to grin or even to smile, but when he thought about John his face just reacted on its own. It wasn’t like he had been lying awake last night, thinking about the strange foreigner. And even if he had been thinking about John, it was just because there were a lot of things Kazuhira still wanted to ask him about the differences in their culture, about the world outside the Quarter and outside Japan, whether he had a wife somewhere, what kind of things he liked and how it felt for him to kiss Kazuhira and—

“I’m not besotted!” he protested, using far too much energy to wash his body and face. “He’s just a nice customer,” Kazuhira tried, realising how feeble his arguments were. Yuu giggled on the neighbouring stool, patting Kazuhira on the shoulder.

“’S alright, Kazuhira. I’d fall for a man like that too, with a cock big enough to fuck you senseless—“

“Yuu! Fuck off!” Kazuhira shouted, flailing now, tormented by his colleagues. He knew they meant no harm, but he still would have liked to bathe himself in peace. He had enough difficulty in the bath house anyway, the place where his different skin tone really stood out among many naked bodies. Another round of laughter bubbled through his friends.

“Can you please keep it down? My head hurts,” groaned another courtesan, rubbing his temples in the far corner of the bath. “I had to drink so much to make it through that last geezer… Kept telling the same two stories over and over and over again…”

“Alright, alright, leave the poor boy alone. Itou, how’s that poem coming along?”

The prostitute in question raised his head from the edge of the pool, where he had been mumbling by himself before Kazuhira’s entrance.

“I still can’t even memorise it, and I should be reciting it tonight!” he lamented with a sigh. “’Stormy winds, bring up the clouds and paint the heavens grey; lest these fair girls… no, maids. Maidens? Misses? Women? Bloody hell, I never get it right!” Itou spouted in desperation. Kazuhira used the moment of shifted attention to step up to the bath, dipping into the hot water, body cleansed. There was always that initial sensation of scalding when he sank in it, but it abated within moments, the heat of the bath relaxing him, loosening up his muscles and softening his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, just enjoying the water reaching his shoulders and the warm air, the sounds of splashing water and endless gossiping of fellow courtesans.

“Seriously though, Kazuhira,” came Renichi’s voice at his side. Kazuhira opened his eyes, casting a defensive look to his friend.

“Did you get the impression that he could buy you out? If not, then you should really be careful. You remember what happened to—“

“Yes, I remember,” Kazuhira replied quickly. He knew very well the dangers of feelings in their line of work. Usually feelings meant misery, at least for someone. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He was just so different, you know? Like, from another world or something,” he continued quietly. He knew he could confide in Renichi with this.

“I’m not sure I know, actually,” his fellow prostitute chuckled. “Speaking of buying out, did you hear that Norio got an offer?”

“Really?” Kazuhira asked, excited, and the other courtesans appeared around them in the blink of an eye.

“What!!”

“Who was it?!”

“I bet it was the Kotetsu heir!”

“Where did you hear this?!”

And so the babble went on, last night’s elegant courtesans reduced to a cackling weaving circle the following morning. But this kind of easy companionship was important to Kazuhira, knowing that to some extent at least, he could trust his co-workers. At the same time, he knew how fickle good graces could be in such a small world. Stepping on the wrong person’s toes could get you bruised if you were lucky, or sold into the worst kind of whorehouse if you were unlucky. But the Master seemed somewhat protective of Kazuhira, determined to hone his exotic asset into a brilliant jewel to rake in as much profit as possible.

~~~

The bath house was just a short walk from the brothel. The Quarter was slowly waking up, the first restaurants and wineries opening to serve those living in the district. It was a sunny day with white wisps of clouds gliding gently across a bright blue sky. Kazuhira stopped and closed his eyes for a while, listening to the peaceful sounds of lesser cuckoos chirping and the district life; sand and pebbles crunching under shoes and wheels, people’s voices and the nebulous hum of life all around him.

Returning to the House, he heard sounds of argument coming from the Master’s office. Before he had a chance to get closer and maybe eavesdrop a little, the door flung open and Norio burst out of the room, storming off. Kazuhira peeked into the office, but only the Master was there, hand on his forehead in frustration. Had it been about the offer Norio had received?

“Ah, Kazuhira. A word,” the Master said as soon as he noticed Kazuhira hovering in the doorway. His tone of voice was business-like as always. The courtesans knew very little about the Master’s personal life; where he was from, what he had done before buying Lotus Shadow, whether he had any family. Apparently the Master felt that business and personal lives are separate worlds that should not be mixed. Of course, because very little was known, plenty of rumours circulated about the stern manager.

“Yes, Master?” Kazuhira asked, stepping into the Western-style office. The space was dominated by a large wooden desk with a sizable ledger on it, as well as a telephone. A bookshelf and a small couch were also in the room, meant for business negotiations only.

“I heard some less than favourable reports of your behaviour last night,” the bespectacled man said, going back to write digits into the ledger. “Am I to understand that you need more training, or do you have an excuse?” The way he mentioned training sent chills up Kazuhira’s spine. Most likely training meant some sort of punishment, he thought.

“The customer asked it of me,” Kazuhira said, squaring his shoulders. He wasn’t going to be intimidated. “He wanted to know if I felt good.”

“Did he explicitly ask you to be loud? Or did you think of no other way to express your feelings?” the Master asked with disdain lacing his tone. He didn’t even raise his eyes from the book in front of him, but kept scribbling away as the discussion went on.

“I… I cannot say that he did,” Kazuhira deflated. It had just felt so natural to just let his voice out and not care whether it was lascivious or obscene or even just too loud. “I apologize. I will be mindful in the future, Master,” he added with a bow of his head. “But, if I may add…?”

The Master looked up and noticing Kazuhira’s expectant face put his pen down. “Yes?”

“What if foreigners don’t like our ideal, Master?” Kazuhira suggested. “Jo--, I mean, my customer last night said that I resembled a dead fish when I acted upon our ideals. Maybe we could use this knowledge to our advantage?” he continued, excitement growing with each word. This was something he also had been thinking about.

“’We’? ‘Our’? You seem to forget your place as merchandise, Kazuhira,” the Master retorted coolly, arms crossed.

“Hear me out, Master,” Kazuhira resumed anyways. “If foreigners, or at least some of them, like their prostitutes loud and racy, why shouldn’t we cater also to them? It would bring in a lot more money when word spread that our courtesans can meet their needs,” he finished, eyes sparkling. He thought his business idea was brilliant and should be put into motion immediately, tonight. Unlike some of his colleagues, he could see the workings of the house in a more rational sense. The prostitutes received a small wage, of where the costs for their upkeep, food, clothes etcetera were deducted from. Each worker had a price, and when they had earned that price, they could buy their freedom from the House. So more customers meant more money and more wages for the prostitutes, right?

The Master stared at Kazuhira with an amused look on his face. “I’ve never heard you talk like this before. But no, I will not allow it,” he said. “If they want cheap whores who scream and moan, they can find them at the docks. You may go,” the Master said with a wave of his hand, returning his attention to the ledger.

“…Yes, Master,” Kazuhira sighed, defeated, and exited the room. He was sure his idea was good, so maybe he just needed to work on the sales pitch more. Now was not the time, as his grumbling stomach reminded him of. Now, it was time for breakfast.

~~~

At Renichi’s suggestion, Kazuhira wore his hair down that night, foregoing the process of tying his hair up. His colleague ensured him that it was important to try out all kinds of styles to see which attracted most customers. Kazuhira himself thought he looked like a girl with his blonde tresses falling over his shoulders, but he was willing to try. It might have helped that Renichi mentioned that to his knowing, foreign men liked it. Although his colleagues had all but dropped the subject of his strange foreigner, Renichi kept reminding him about it, sometimes just hissing like a snake to him across the breakfast table to get Kazuhira all worked up again.

Despite Kazuhira’s efforts in preening, John did not return that night, or the next, much to Kazuhira’s disappointment. He knew it was foolish to wait for him to return so soon, and perhaps to return at all. For all he knew, the soft pull of attraction may have been completely one-sided, and John wouldn’t even remember him when morning came. John might not even be in the town anymore, or even in the country, sailed off to some new adventures and new arms to fall in during the night. But hope dies last, as he had heard someone say.

Other clients, new and familiar, kept him busy enough during the nights, Kazuhira being content that John’s presence in his mind didn’t hinder him from servicing others. With each encounter, he learned to ply his trade better, learned to analyse the customer’s expressions, to read them better and therefore respond to them better. He experimented to find the right angle to tilt his head ever so charmingly, the best moment for his lips to softly fall open with a sigh, the most effective way to glance at a man with his blue eyes to make him swoon. His eighteenth birthday came around, and a banquet was arranged at the first floor of the House for all customers to enjoy.

When he received foreign customers, he would try and discreetly fish information about John. He was very soon informed that ‘John’ was the most common English name for men, so going only by a first name was impossible. Many of the foreigners he serviced weren’t as skilled in Japanese, so any sort of dialogue above yes, no and some hand gestures, was off the table. He asked soldiers of the Imperial Army about mercenaries, but didn’t hear anything about someone matching John’s description. He did hear a lot of other war stories though, most likely embellished with each time they were told. Kazuhira even inquired at other brothels under the guise of swapping stories about customers with other prostitutes at the bath house. But no one had seen John.

After a few weeks, Kazuhira’s hope started to fade. With each passing night, it seemed more and more improbable that John would visit Lotus Shadow. Perhaps he truly was a fool for thinking so much about a customer who only had visited once. Maybe this would be a good lesson to him for the future, to guard his self better against feelings of this kind.

Then came a damp, drizzling night in June, when the streets of the Quarter were quiet of footsteps with only a few people trotting about under their umbrellas, shoes dirty with mud. Kazuhira was nigh shivering in the display room, the sudden coolness of the weather taking the courtesans by surprise. He rose to fetch some overcoats for him and his colleagues, and when he returned, a familiar figure was leaning against the red-painted lattice.

“Hey, Kaz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr account](http://statisticsfag.tumblr.com/). (I love hearing from my readers! yes, all three of you xD)


	6. Chapter 6

Kazuhira entered the same guest room as the last time with John, remembering with a smile their reversed roles. Now, it was John sitting at the small table, waiting for Kazuhira. But the courtesan did not barge in speaking another language; instead he went through the formalities as expected. The season had not changed yet, still weeks away from the worst heat waves of August, and so the décor of the room was still the same. Lotus Shadow had a different arrangement than many other middle- or high-classed brothels, where the prostitutes each had their own bedrooms where they lived, slept and serviced their clients. The workers at Lotus Shadow had separate bedrooms, tiny shared spaces with only a simple mattress and very few personal items. The Master thought that the arrangement would raise a sense of togetherness in the prostitutes.

“Welcome back, John,” Kazuhira spoke, standing at the sliding door with his hands covering his lap. He was wearing an emerald kimono this time, the trailing hem dipped in black. Flowers of different colours and shapes appeared to grow upwards from the bottom of the fabric, camellias and magnolias shooting towards the bronze-coloured sash tied in a simple bow at his front. The long sleeves were decorated in a similar manner, a few stray blossoms climbing over a shoulder like a vine. He wore his blonde hair down, tied neatly to the back of his skull with the longest strands reaching the middle of his back.

“How have you been?” he asked politely, blue eyes soft as he looked at the man who had occupied his thoughts so many times during the past weeks. John rubbed his chin, eyes traveling up and down Kazuhira’s figure.

“Mhmm. I got a bonus from my last mission, so I decided to spend it on something nice,” John said, unable to stop staring, blue eyes deep like the ocean. Renichi’s words suddenly echoed in Kazuhira’s head, the warning to not fall for someone who wasn’t financially able to give Kazuhira his freedom. If a bonus was required for John to even visit Kazuhira, then there would be no hope of John buying him out. It was not sensible to get attached to this customer.

“And you’re the nicest I’ve had in a while.”

Their eyes met. Kazuhira remembered hearing about cobras who could supposedly hypnotize their prey into paralysis by staring at them with cold, unblinking eyes. But John’s eyes weren’t cold like a serpent’s; instead there was a definite flash of desire in his gaze. Kazuhira’s mouth went dry at the words, the heavy tone of his voice, dripping with venomous honey. How could he think sensibly after that, when those few words caused all his pining to resurface again?

He crossed the room with long strides, bare feet thumping against the thick straw mat covering the floor. John followed every move with his eyes, almost anticipating his movements. With a whisper of fabric, Kazuhira was straddling John’s lap, capturing his face between his hands. The force of his kiss almost tipped John over, causing him to steady them both with a hand behind him.

“Kaz…” John murmured softly between the clashes of their lips, answering the blonde’s passion with equal strength. The sound of his nickname - given by this man - made his chest tighten, not enough air in the room. What he wouldn’t give to hear John call him that every day. John’s warm hands were gripping his shoulders, sliding down against the soft fabric to his waist as desire sparked between them. Kazuhira could feel lust burgeon in his body, milky skin flushing.

“John, John,” Kazuhira chanted, near drunk on the fever-hot kisses. He sucked on John’s full upper lip, hands already shifting to work on the buttons on his shirt, impatient to undress the man.

“Not so much dead fish now, huh?” John breathed out, earning a gasp when he cupped Kazuhira’s ass, fingers splayed against the kimono.

“I learn fast,” Kazuhira replied, mentally hitting himself. What if John thought he was just faking it in order to please a customer? He was frustrated that his hands were trembling, clothes not coming off John quick enough. He wanted to be closer to John’s skin, his scent, his taste, his soul. Kazuhira ground down his hips, lips releasing John’s in order to kiss his face instead, pressing his lips chastely against the sides of his mouth or grazing his teeth across an earlobe. His mahogany hair was slightly damp, smelling like grass and rain and the wide world outside. Kazuhira got John’s shirt open enough to slide his hand against bare skin, fingers tracing scars and the dark, sparse hair covering his chest, twirling around a dark nipple.

John answered with an errant cant of his hips, thrusting up into Kazuhira’s lap. His hands felt about for the long ends of the bronze-coloured sash, pulling the tie open like a ribbon off a present with much more ease than last time.

“I learn fast too,” he grinned for a moment, before his mouth found better things to do at the pale expanse of Kazuhira’s throat so close and exposed to him. The blonde tipped his head back with a sigh for easier access, rubbing against John’s side with his bare knee. He felt John scraping his collarbone with his teeth, tongue worrying over the sensitive spot at the juncture of his neck.

“Ah, no marks, please,” Kazuhira whined, regretting the words as soon as they were out in the air. He wanted John to suck and bite at him, to leave a chain of love bites on his skin to remind him of John even when he wasn’t there.

“The rules state-,” he continued with a tint of worry in his voice. He did not want to think about other clients now, and most importantly, he didn’t want John to think about other clients doing these same things to him. Because John wasn’t the same as the others, their touches didn’t feel the same as John’s; their gazes didn’t lure him in like John’s. And they most certainly didn’t make Kazuhira feel like a first-timer again, heart trying to claw its way up into his throat.

“I know, I know,” John answered, dragging the soft kimono off Kazuhira’s shoulders. “I won’t get you into trouble.” Kazuhira wanted to believe that.

John patted on Kazuhira’s thigh, lifting him off his lap and nodding towards the futon. The distance was not more than a few steps, but it seemed to take forever with their mouths pulling together for searing kisses like moths drawn to the flame. Kazuhira was already naked, but John’s clothes were so much slower to take off, with too many pesky buttons and buckles. Kazuhira slid John’s shirt finally off, his hand catching on a strip of gauze wrapped around a bicep.

“What’s this?” he asked, mind a little hazy. “Are you hurt?” The gauze was clean with no blood seeping through it, so at least there was no immediate danger.

“Just a scratch,” John replied with a shrug, using the opportunity to remove the clothing from his lower body as well. Kazuhira wondered whether John was hurt during his mission. He wanted to ask what kind of mission it had been, as he knew nothing of the practical side of John’s work. His thoughts ran wild. What if John had killed someone on his mission? What if John had killed someone in order to spend time with him? It was certainly a thrilling thought, but Kazuhira couldn’t say whether that was a magnificent or a horrible one. He would have to ruminate it later, when John wasn’t lying down on the crimson futon, propped on his forearms. John’s body was truly an amazing one, and so different from Kazuhira’s own; strong muscles and tanner skin from spending more time outdoors. He had more hair on his body too, dark in colour, winding down from his chest in a thin trail to his stomach and into a thicker cluster between his legs. The dark curls accentuated his rigid cock even more, jutting out with red hot desire.

Kazuhira moved over, nudging John’s legs apart to kneel between them. He stared at John’s prick, hearing John’s breath hitch as he wrapped his hand around it, sliding over skin. Saliva formed in his mouth, and he let a dollop of it fall from his lips on John’s member, coating it with the warm liquid. He bent his head down to give the rounded tip a kiss, enjoying the hiss of pleasure it brought out of John. The kiss widened, lips stretching over the head before pulling slowly back with a loud smack.

He could feel John’s sweltering gaze on him, on his hand that played with John’s dick and on his mouth that kissed and licked at the sides. Kazuhira knew men liked to watch, and for John, he wanted to give a good show of his skills. Teasing him with only taking him in his mouth for the shortest time, bobbing his head once, maybe twice, before letting go with a wanton gasp. He looked up at John every so often, pleased in the band of flush high on his cheeks. John’s mouth was gaping a little, soft pants warming the air, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

“Wh-where’s that jar of yours,” John eventually asked, voice hoarse. “You need to get on me right nnn—“

Kazuhira sank his head deep, mouth full with John’s cock, the tip tickling at the back of his throat. He pressed his tongue flat against the underside of the hardness filling his mouth, sucking and swallowing around it until John groaned loudly and his hand pulled at Kazuhira’s blonde hair.

“Yeah, okay—“ John panted. “You’re good at this, I get it.”

The blonde smiled at the backhanded compliment as he released John’s throbbing cock from his mouth, licking his lips obscenely. He climbed on all fours over John’s thighs, settling down to straddle his hips once more. John’s hands flew on his waist in an instant, holding Kazuhira in place to grind his slick cock against his ass. It made the blond whimper, feeling the hard thickness pressing into his cleft.

“You’re so skinny,” John commented, hands trailing over Kazuhira’s leaner body, splaying his fingers across his waist. “Don’t they feed you properly?”

Kazuhira’s chuckle was cut short when John’s hand smoothed over his hard prick, pumping slowly.

“We’re fed enough, don’t worry.” It was no secret that most men coveted a youthful appearance, at least in their male prostitutes, which included a slim figure with as little defined muscles as possible. So they were fed enough, but not to fatten, and regular, strenuous exercise off-duty was not recommended.

Kazuhira leaned over to reach the lubrication, dipping his fingers in it when John interrupted him with a hand on his wrist.

“I’ll do it this time,” the older man said, taking the container. Kazuhira nodded and leaned back down, lips kissing the side of John’s neck. His breath hitched as John’s thick, oiled finger pressed right into him, delving in to explore.

“Hmm…” he murmured thoughtfully, prodding with the pad of his finger before suddenly adding a second one with little resistance. Kazuhira moaned, head falling against John’s shoulder, not expecting such a sudden breach.

“Not your first tonight, I think,” John said quietly, stretching the blonde open with ease. Kazuhira’s back arched, canting his hips against the delectable sensation of John’s rough fingers inside him.

“S-sorry,” he managed between harsh breaths. What he really wanted to say was that if he had known John would be coming, he would have refused any other customers for the night, waiting only for John with bated breath.

“I think I can feel some of their cum still inside,” he growled. John’s fingers curled, pressing hard into that special bundle of nerves and Kazuhira’s hips bucked with an anguished cry.

“Ahh—too rough, John, please!” he babbled, the thin sheen of sweat on his neck breaking out into droplets. Was John punishing him? Oh, he wanted to be only John’s, never to take another customer again, to remember only John’s body against his own.

John pulled his fingers out and guided Kazuhira’s face to his own for a soothing, apologizing kiss. Their breaths mixed with huffs of air, tongues twisted in a slow rub. Kazuhira was the one to break off first, rising to steady himself with hands on John’s chest, hips grinding back against the insistent hardness. Taking the hint, John guided himself to Kazuhira’s entrance, allowing him to sink down at his own pace.

“Mmh!” Kazuhira bit his lip to stifle a moan as John’s impressive girth entered him, stretching him taut. His eyes were screwed shut, brow twisted in pleasure as he sank lower and lower at a torturously slow pace, etching the sensations into memory. John kept his trembling hips still until he bottomed out, Kazuhira’s body flush against his. They were both panting roughly, Kazuhira’s heart beating like the rain outside.

“C’mon,” John urged, thrusting upwards ever so slightly, eyes glazed over with lust. And Kazuhira obeyed with a sensual roll of his hips, starting with slower, wider motions, letting out a soft gasp each time John slid in deeper again. John’s hands roamed on his body again, smoothing over thighs, coming up his sides and pinching his nipples gently.

“You like that?” John asked, voice low, admiring the way Kazuhira’s abdominal muscles rippled with every shuddering breath. The blond nodded, closing his eyes again and increasing the motion of his hips, knees digging into the soft bedding.

“…I like it too,” John said with something akin to uncertainty in his tone. Kazuhira realized that the palms of his hands were pressing onto John’s nipples and shifted his weight to his other hand to be able to touch John easier. John answered with a sudden hiss as Kazuhira traced around a peaked nub before pinching it, just like John had done to him. He could feel John twitch inside him as he continued teasing his nipple, manipulating it between his fingers and rubbing it with the palm of his hand. He wanted to lean down and lick and suck at the hardened nub, but the angle was all wrong and he couldn’t twist his body low enough. The reaction he got from John was interesting enough, something he’d store away to bring back for their next encounter. He prayed that John would come back again.

John’s panting came in ragged breaths as he clutched Kazuhira’s hips and held him still. He began to thrust hard into the blonde’s body, weary of the agonizing pace. Kazuhira felt John bend his legs for better leverage, his ass hitting John’s thighs with each rough thrust. His gasps melted into moans and whimpers, grabbing John’s arms for purchase.

“Kaz—I’m going to—“ John panted, curling his arms around Kazuhira’s waist and pounding hard, manipulating the younger body as his own need dictated. He lifted his upper body, Kazuhira’s leaking hardness trapped between their sweat-slicked bodies. The blonde idly wondered whether he could come like this, without a hand on his cock.

“Yes, John—Yes—“ spilled the broken words from Kazuhira’s lips, unable to move himself anymore in the confining grip of the older man. Just like a constrictor, he thought wildly, unable to stop the string of indecent sounds coming from him.

“Snake,” John mumbled, mouthing against Kazuhira’s shoulder. “Call me Snake—“

“Snake!” Kazuhira cried out as John just kept ramming into him, his body forcing itself in and around Kazuhira, swallowing him whole. He would come too any second now, if he only got some air into his lungs through the strong embrace he was held in. Just as he was afraid he’d pass out, he felt John pulse inside him, hot seed gushing into him as John howled desperately out something that resembled Kazuhira’s name, orgasm wrenched out of him.

The sound alone was nearly enough for Kazuhira and as soon as John’s grasp abated a fraction, he rushed his hand around his aching cock to stroke himself into completion. It didn’t take long with John’s cock still buried inside him, ass throbbing around the thickness with each flick of his wrist. John thrust his hips up one final time, and that was the tipping point for Kazuhira, falling over the edge with a silent scream. His seed spurted on his hand and on John’s stomach, ribbons of white splattering on heated skin.

“Please stay, Snake,” he pleaded quickly, eyes hazy and mind clouded, dirtied hands capturing John’s face. The older man blinked several times, brow furrowing as if he couldn’t really comprehend the words Kazuhira said to him.

“Stay?” he parroted, breath evening out. Kazuhira nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Stay, until dawn.”

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ...just kidding, sorry for any heart attacks. xD We're about halfway through this story! I added some art to [Chapter Three](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5257487/chapters/12323531). As always, check out [my tumblr account](http://statisticsfag.tumblr.com) if thou art thus inclined. I tag stuff related to this fic with "pleiades". :)


	7. Chapter 7

“Until dawn? Wouldn’t that be bad for your, uh, business?” John asked cautiously, hands still fixed to the small of Kazuhira’s back. Despite his words, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, the room now fragrant with the scent of their heated bodies. The patter of rain was still a steady beat against the outer wall of the room, cool air seeping through the junctures of the building.

“It’s raining, so business will be slow anyway,” Kazuhira smiled, perhaps a bit too warmly than he intended to. The thought of spending more time with John thrummed in his chest. “The Master allows us some accountability to our work.”

“Accountability?” John echoed. Maybe it was a difficult word for him, Kazuhira thought.

“Yes. He’ll give us a warning if we’re not making enough money, and… Never mind, it’s not a problem,” he finished. Perhaps telling John how any prostitute who wasn’t bringing in enough money would be resold to a much nastier place wasn’t going to encourage him to stay.

“We can… talk, if you’d like,” Kazuhira suggested, biting his lip. Why was he nervous now, asking John to stay and talk, after having sex with him? With a small noise, he pulled himself off John and shuffled to sit next to his prone body. Sex was simpler though, and easier. Much easier than talking.

“And at dawn, I can accompany you out and we can see the last fading stars before sunrise.”

“Hah! What a line!” John laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Do you say that to all your clients?” Kazuhira was mortified. He didn’t mean it as some kind of trick of the trade, a cheap line to be repeated like an actor to a crowd. He thought it would be nice to watch the stars with John, but their current room didn’t have a window.

“It’s not a line! I meant it,” Kazuhira said, almost pouting. “I’d really like to talk with you,” he added, fighting the sense of having his hopes crushed. John raised an eyebrow, the bandanna across his brow skewing.

“I can’t decide whether you’re a really good whore or a really bad one,” he said with a light in his eyes, the sides of his mouth twitching. Kazuhira huffed, crossing his arms. He didn’t like John calling him a whore, even if it was true. Most other patrons only used it as an insult, but then again, John was not like most patrons.

“And I can’t decide whether you’re a good customer or not!” he replied, with not enough bite in his words to make his offense believable.

“All right, all right,” John placated, raising his hands in surrender. “So what do you want to talk about?” He twisted up from his prone position with easy exertion of his abdominal muscles. Kazuhira just stared at his physique, admiring the dimples low on his back when John walked over to pick up the entire small table, bringing it over with the sake dishes clinging against each other.

“Anything, really. About you, for example. Where you’re from, how did you end up here,” Kazuhira said, trying to sound nonchalant. _Do you like me, why did you come back to me, why do you make me feel these things I’ve never felt before?_

“Huh.” John gave him a curious look, raising an eyebrow and setting the table down next to the futon. Had Kazuhira said that last part out loud as well? He scrambled over to pour him some sake and at John’s invitation, poured some for himself as well. He only drank liquor when his clients asked it of him, having heard too many accounts of prostitutes developing strong addiction for the stuff. For some, it helped the dreary nights pass faster and gave them deep sleep for the day. Some the overuse of liquor made sick, their bodies not withstanding such lengthy abuse. It was another risk in the mire of dangers working as a prostitute.

Whether it was the drink or the lingering afterglow, Kazuhira didn’t know, but John humoured him and began talking, telling him about himself and answering any extra questions Kazuhira had. John had come from the United States, born during the Civil War. Perhaps it was this early influence that led him to leave his family at 16 to enlist into the Regular Army. John himself claimed it was boredom that compelled him into the world, but he and his superiors quickly noticed his inherent skill in battle. After nearly a decade of service, he joined some of his comrades to form their own unofficial unit, to travel around the world to places of unrest. A group that galloped into the oncoming storm instead of running away from it. The group broke off eventually, the members interests veering into different directions.

“I’ve been in a lot of fights since then,” John said, puffing on a cigar. They had the cover of the futon pulled over them, to keep them warm against the cool air. Kazuhira lied on his side close to John, head propped up on an arm, listening intently. John’s descriptions of all the places he’d been were vivid in detail, although Kazuhira thought he detected a special affinity for the different sorts of foods he had tried across the world.

“The biggest were in Dahomey and Manchuria,“ he continued, looking into the distance. “After each battle, I’ve learned something new. So I figured I’d travel and learn as much as I can of different battle techniques before finally returning to the States. There, I’ll teach everything I’ve learned to my countrymen.”

Kazuhira hummed. It seemed like such a noble plan, to travel around the world in order to strengthen his own country’s armed forces. But listening to John talk about fighting and wars, it sounded like he really enjoyed the deadly situations, the adrenaline singing in his blood and the uncertainty of the scenes. He couldn’t decide whether it was truly a dignified quest, or a plainly selfish one.

“You must be really lucky then,” the blonde commented, eyes bright. “To have survived so many fights, I mean.”

“Nah. There’s no luck on the battlefield. Only skill. ‘Practise lasts long and therefore is a second nature to man’,” he recited, shaking his head.

Kazuhira absorbed every word of every story, marvelled and horrified of the wonders overseas. Strange creatures and odd people, exotic landscapes and curious habits; so much that Kazuhira wanted to see for himself. Maybe it was his infatuation obscuring his faculties, or maybe it was the drink, but for a fleeting moment, he could see himself following John into all these unusual places, fighting alongside him in his quest for techniques.

“What about you? How did you end up in here?” John asked abruptly, turning over to direct his attention more effectively at Kazuhira. The younger man reddened nervously, not exactly expecting to be under such candid scrutiny. But he acceded and told his story as well, of the unfortunate circumstances of his birth and how his path eventually brought him into this room, this evening.

“You make it sound like it’s not a big deal, having to work here,” John commented. There was softness in his eyes again, his hand rising to gently cup Kazuhira’s face, thumb caressing over his cheek.

“It’s not something I would have chosen for myself, but it could be worse,” Kazuhira answered gingerly. “And it’s not forever, after all.” He took hold of John’s larger hand, placing a kiss on his palm. Even the palm of his hand was different, not smooth and soft like Kazuhira’s own, but rough with struggle around weapons.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” John said, his ears turning red. He ducked down to kiss Kazuhira’s lips, inhaling hard when he responded, warm mouths moving against each other to convey thoughts that neither could put into words. John’s hand snaked around Kazuhira’s waist, gathering him closer.

Kazuhira thought he’d never get tired of kissing John, of the contrasting feeling between his soft lips and scratchy beard, or of the low gasps he pulled from John when he licked at the sides of his mouth. He placed his hands against John’s furred chest, feeling his heart pound under his skin. He lifted his leg around John’s waist, slotting their bodies flush together. He could feel himself getting excited again by John’s proximity, slowly rubbing his groin against him.

“You want to…?” John asked, perplexed, a trail of saliva hanging between their reddened lips. Kazuhira replied by attacking his mouth and sealing it with his own, teeth clacking together awkwardly. He captured John’s upper lip for a gentle kiss in apology, before slipping a hand between their bodies, feeling John come to life under his grip.

They spent the rest of the night enjoying each other’s company, both physically and mentally. Between rounds of lovemaking, they’d exchange heartfelt stories of the things they had experienced. John would tell stories of the world and Kazuhira tried to explain the Japanese culture to him as best as he could. There were many seemingly simple and fundamental matters that were very different between their cultures. It seemed to be easier for John to understand, having already travelled abroad.

“I wonder how long places like this can exist here,” John commented almost off-hand while chewing on a rice ball wrapped in seaweed. Kazuhira had poked his messy head out of the door enough to have someone fetch some snacks for them. Sure enough, a while later there had been a voice at the sliding door and Kazuhira wrapped himself in his kimono loosely in order to take the offered tray.

“What do you mean, places like this?” Kazuhira asked, wondering if John even stopped to taste what he was eating, or whether he just wolfed down everything offered.

“Your government is being pressured into Western laws to be able to trade with us,” John continued, licking the last of the rice off his fingers. Kazuhira was still confounded.

“This kind of… prostitution,” John offered, gesturing around.

“What? It’s not legal in your country?” Kazuhira asked, amazed.

“It is, but not… this,” he tried again, waving his hand between them, looking for the right words. “Between men,” he tried.

“Prostitution between men isn’t allowed?” Kazuhira suggested, raising his eyebrow. That sure sounded bizarre, but John had told of many stranger things already.

“Sex between men is illegal. And your government will most likely be pressured into banning it here as well,” John finally said.

“What?” Kazuhira’s face was a mixture of expressions, astonished and bewildered and a little angry.

“How can it—I mean that’s just—Listen, John. Have you thought about the lotus?”

“The lotus?” John repeated.

“There are many different coloured lotus flowers. Yellow, pink, red, white, purple… They’re all beautiful, right?” Kazuhira spoke, a fierce determination in his eyes.

“Some people like yellow lotuses over pink ones, but they’re still all beautiful flowers. How can you ban one colour of love and allow another?” he asked incredulously. He had held a kind of admiration for the Western philosophies, but this was just too strange for him.

“Huh. I’ve never heard anyone say it like that,” John said. “Maybe we’re not as superior and enlightened as we think,” he continued with an apologetic smile. Kazuhira only shook his head, not comprehending the idea at all. Forbidding organized prostitution he could have somehow understood, but not this. The world beyond the walls was indeed more curious than he had thought.

When the bells rang outside on the street with men walking around the Quarter shouting that dawn was here and closing time imminent, the last few guests trickled out of the various buildings. The rain had let up, but its traces were still on the ground in the form of puddles and mud. Kazuhira and John had dressed themselves as presentable as was needed to say goodbye outside a brothel. Kazuhira could have passed if it wasn’t for the matted hair at the back of his head, evidence of being thrust against the futon time and again. John didn’t look too much worse for wear, but he was tired as well even with the infinitely content look on his face.

“Look, John, up there,” Kazuhira said, pointing to the eastern sky. The dawn sun had not yet broken the horizon, only the promise of a new day glowing below the dark heavens. Once again, night would be conquered by the light of day. John turned his head to where Kazuhira was pointing, at the two bright spots low on the sky.

“Do you see the brighter one? It’s actually not just a single star but many. They’re called—“

“The Pleiades, I know. The Seven Sisters,” John finished with a tender expression.

“Seven Sisters? But there are only six stars there,” Kazuhira argued, dropping his hand.

“Seven, according to what I’ve heard. That’s why it’s called the Seven Sisters.”

“But—how can that be? Even the name means the united six!” Kazuhira worried, once again baffled. Surely the stars in the West were the same stars as here?

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrologist,” John grumbled. “Maybe it is just six. Or maybe the six are united under the seventh, how about that?”

“Hmm…” Kazuhira pondered. He had heard a lot about stars in poems and stories that his peers would recite to their patrons, finding them to be somehow romantic in nature. Small sparks of light across a huge distance, some being visible to the sharpest eyes even during daytime. Like scars of the nights past, wounds being reopened every night with more light bleeding out, until the searing light of the sun cauterized their faint glow in a never-ending cycle.

“Be that as it may,” Kazuhira said diplomatically, brain too tired to squeeze out good arguments. “Will you come back for the Star Festival?”

“Star Festival?”

Kazuhira’s eyes lit up. “The best festival of the year! The whole Quarter is filled with decorations, there will be parades and music and fireworks and food and most importantly, we’re allowed to take part in the festivities!” he explained like a child on the eve of his birthday. John rubbed his beard, boot toeing the ground.

“It sounds fun. I’ll try to,” he replied tersely. A man in an official-looking uniform approached them, looking warily at the pair.

“My lord, the Quarter is closing,” he said, gesturing pointedly towards the exit. John nodded and Kazuhira took a step back in order to bow formally to his guest.

“Thank you for visiting, my lord,” he said with a hint of mischief in his voice. “Please come again.”

John said his goodbyes and headed for the exit, politely dogged by the man in the uniform. Kazuhira could see him stop and light his cigar again, breathing out long tendrils of smoke to irritate his follower. His wide smile transformed into a yawn, so he turned around to find some rest of his own. What a marvellous night it had been!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dahomey is what's known today as Benin.
> 
> "Practice, my friend, lasts long, and therefore is a second nature, in the end, to man." Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics.
> 
> Added art to [Chapter Six](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5257487/chapters/12536885). You can see all the art also [on my tumblr](http://statisticsfag.tumblr.com) as usual. :)


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was already close to its zenith when Kazuhira finally awoke. The rest of his so-called roommates had vacated their beddings some time ago, leaving Kazuhira to sleep. They weren’t responsible or even that willing to wake him up in time for breakfast, knowing full well how tiring staying up until dawn could be. Kazuhira had a mild throb in his head and his throat was parched, surely a combination of the cups of sake he had had and the lateness of his retirement for the evening.

With a yawn, Kazuhira heaved himself up and dressed in a pale beige cotton kimono, throwing a moss green sash around his waist and tying it in a simple knot. Memories of last night flooded into his groggy mind, provoking a wide grin on his face. John had actually stayed with him all night and talked, not to mention their amorous couplings that had Kazuhira shuddering with warmth. He had learned so much about the world beyond these few hectares of the Quarter. And he had learned that John wasn’t as serious as he looked, but quite funny at times, although some jokes Kazuhira didn’t quite grasp without explanations. Especially the one about cardboard boxes escaped him. The only use he knew for the things were to transport moths and their eggs to silk makers.

All in all, he was in a happy mood as he trotted off to start the day, but stopped short when he heard a voice from one of the other bedrooms.

“Water…” the voice said, and it sounded a lot like Norio. Kazuhira approached the room, indeed finding the House’s most valued courtesan inside. His long black hair, usually the pride of his beauty, was tangled with sweat, tresses sticking to his face, his covers were thrown off and he was panting.

“Norio? Are you all right?” Kazuhira asked, even if he knew just by sight that something was wrong.

“Kazuhira, puppy, please bring me water,” Norio all but croaked, not even lifting his head from the mattress. He had always called Kazuhira a puppy, because that was his first impression of the blonde boy with large blue eyes and hunched shoulders; a wary look on his face like a kicked puppy trying to regain his trust towards humans. Kazuhira ran off to fetch some, wondering. Norio could usually hold his liqueur, so it was rare to see him hung over that badly.

When he returned, Norio had sat up, leaning heavily against the wall. Kazuhira placed the jug of water on the floor, pouring the lukewarm liquid into a cup for the other courtesan.

“What happened?” Kazuhira asked as Norio chugged down the water, coughing and sputtering when he drank too much too fast.

“That damn Kotetsu heir had me drugged last night,” Norio explained weakly in his gentle, flutelike voice, slumping back against the cool wall. Kazuhira knew instantly what he was talking about. The drug, or ‘medicine’, acted as a kind of guarantee for the patrons who paid up front. Should the prostitute be unwilling to service his client, the patron had the choice of requesting another prostitute or to ensure his willingness with a dose of the medicine. Kazuhira had heard that it made you feel like your body was on fire, like there was an itch just beneath your skin that you couldn’t scratch. It made you painfully aroused, and you would do anything to make it stop. It could deprave a man of all sense of shame, driving him near crazy.

“The Master allowed it?” Kazuhira asked, doubtful. As it were, only the Master had access to the medicine.

“Of course he did. He wanted to appease the lord after I rejected his offer,” Norio continued, reaching out his cup for Kazuhira to fill again.

“But why did you reject him in the first place?” Kazuhira asked, curious, and not just for the gossip factor either. “He would have bought you your freedom!” Wasn’t that the secret wish of every prostitute in the Pleasure Quarter, for a wealthy patron to purchase their freedom from their Houses? For the women, it often meant marriage as well.

“Oh puppy, do you really think that’s going to happen if someone buys you out?” Norio said, an almost motherly care in his voice. “I don’t think you understand that they’re not buying your freedom; they’re buying you.”

“Isn’t that better than staying here?” Kazuhira enquired.

“A matter of perspective. Sure, you’ll only have to service one man, hopefully, but you’ll still be his servant, his bed-warmer, dependant on his every whim. And when he tires of you, or you’ll grow too old for his tastes, I assure you, he’ll throw you out like rotten meat,” Norio nearly seethed, exhausted. “Women have it easier,” he finished quietly, drinking more water to quench his thirst.

“Besides, when summer ends, so does my term,” he continued, words gushing out like he was telling a secret he had been holding in for so long. “Then I’ll really be free. I want to travel to Kyoto and become an actor.”

“I think you’d make a marvellous actor,” Kazuhira smiled. He did understand Norio’s point. When his term would end, he’d be a free man and not just change his master. But it wasn’t enough to deter his demeanour towards a possible patron buying someone out. It just had to be the quicker way out of indentured service at the brothel.

After assurances that the older prostitute would be alright now, Kazuhira continued his morning routines; washing up, eating and exchanging ribald stories with his fellow courtesans. Later in the afternoon, Renichi found him practising his shamisen and pestered him endlessly about his night with John, yanking every last detail to satisfy his curiosity.

“I didn’t know he could be so _tender_ ,” Kazuhira chattered on, his instrument set aside on the straw-matted floor. Sheets of music were placed on a special holder, allowing the player to read them while playing without craning his neck too much. “I mean, he certainly doesn’t look like it, but the way he kissed me and the way he said my name – and do you know, he calls me _Kaz_ , I just…” he ended with a sigh.

“You have it bad, Kazuhira, you do,” Renichi shook his head with a laugh. “You’ll be in trouble yet, believe me!”

At that same moment, the sliding door opened and the Master appeared in the doorway. “Speaking of which…” Renichi mumbled under his breath.

“Kazuhira, a word,” came the command. Renichi excused himself and left them quickly, noticing the extra ire on the Master’s face. Kazuhira waited patiently for the Master to begin his rant; most likely he had received some complaints about Kazuhira again.

“I came to check on you. Strip,” he ordered, closing the door behind him.

“Why?” Kazuhira asked, stiffened. This wasn’t something that was usual for the Master. Apart from his initial inspection, only doctors and clients wanted him naked.

“I said, strip,” the Master repeated, his tone admonishing. Kazuhira obeyed, baffled, rising to his feet to remove his clothes. He undid the sash at his waist and shuffled out of his kimono. The Master’s eyes raked over him from head to toe, paying extra attention to his midsection.

“I knew it. Look,” he said, pointing to Kazuhira’s hips. He looked down at himself and found dark spots, light bruises in the shape of fingertips on skin, fingertips holding on to him too tightly. Kazuhira blushed, embarrassed. How had he not noticed it last night?

“I’m sorry, Master, I—“ Kazuhira started, not sure why he was apologizing. He felt nonetheless that it couldn’t do him any harm.

“I will not have any customers damaging my merchandise,” the Master said flatly, crossing his arms into the wide sleeves of his overcoat. “If he won’t adhere by the rules, he won’t be allowed here. You know this, Kazuhira.”

The thought of John being banned from seeing him shocked Kazuhira. He looked forward into seeing him again so keenly, he thought his heart would break if he wouldn’t see John again. The thought caught up with him. Heartbreak? How had that happened? It was one thing for him to not notice how hard John’s fingers left their impression on his skin, but onto his heart as well?

“How did you know?” Kazuhira asked, running his fingertips on the marks on his skin.

“He looks like a beast,” the Master answered with a level stare. Kazuhira wanted to argue that yes, he may look a little scary, but he’s not cruel at all, he’s actually--

“Practise your shamisen. You’ll be working the floor tonight,” the Master concluded, leaving Kazuhira alone and naked in the room. What the Master had meant was that he wouldn’t be taking any clients tonight, not with the marks on his skin. Instead he’d sit in the foyer greeting incoming customers, bowing deeply and welcoming them, playing songs for them if they had to wait for their courtesan to be available. He would chat with them; entertain them, like a barmaid instead of a whore. He abhorred it, even though he had no reason to. It was nearly the same as sitting in the display room, getting gawked on by passers-by, enduring various comments about his exotic looks. But at least he didn’t have to talk to them in the display room, didn’t have to entertain them until they requested him and paid the house. And most importantly, didn’t have to act the simpering fool.

A few nights later, when the marks on Kazuhira’s skin had faded, he received a customer as usual. Kazuhira hadn’t met this particular patron earlier and neither had his colleagues. He was in his thirties, a man with a heavy build. His head was shaved bald, but he had a trimmed beard lining his jaw. He seemed pleasant enough and requested Kazuhira to play for him. Apparently he liked music, because he asked for song after song, humming along with melodies he recognized and clapping in rhythm of merrier tunes. He drank many cups of liquor as well, draining the flask of sake while Kazuhira played.

Ultimately Kazuhira felt like the strings of his instrument would be leaving permanent dentures into his fingers, so he put down his shamisen. This was getting tiring, so he’d try another tactic.

“My lord. Are you nervous?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“What do you mean?” his client asked, apparently not taking Kazuhira’s words at face value. The blonde shuffled closer on the floor, leaning towards the other man.

“You haven’t made any move to touch me, my lord. Do I…” he let the words hang for a dramatic moment, turning his head away. “Do I not please you, my lord? I know I must look strange to you.” The words were chosen with felicity, phrases to be used when he wanted to speed up an encounter, so that it would also end faster.

“N-no, it’s not that, I just,” the patron stumbled over his words, glancing at the now empty flask of sake. Kazuhira took his hand and guided it innocently to his pale cheek.

“My lord, it would please me greatly if you touched me,” Kazuhira near whispered dramatically, staring intently at his hesitant patron.

“Right. Uh. Right. I will. I can do this,” the customer mumbled mainly to himself, freeing his hand to push Kazuhira down on his back. There was nothing sensual about his touch and Kazuhira wondered if this was a first of some kind to his client.

“What do I… what do you like?” The customer was blushing now, a reddish hue staining his tanned face. Definitely a first, Kazuhira thought. He reached over for the jar of lubrication, bringing it closer to hand.

“Anything, my lord,” Kazuhira almost purred, arching his back off the floor, spreading his legs and letting his kimono fall off them to reveal bare skin. The client still didn’t seem to know what to do, so Kazuhira walked him through the motions. Perhaps he wanted to be told what to do, to be ordered. He tried to touch his client, but his hand was swatted away whenever he tried to ease his smallclothes off. So he kept his hands on safer ground.

After much groping and fondling, Kazuhira was naked and his customer in his smallclothes. Kazuhira noted with some disappointment that the man wasn’t that hard, even with all the salacious acting from his part. Kazuhira was stroking himself with small, wanton moans escaping him, all but demanding his client to put his fingers inside him – after coating them with the oily substance.

The man was hopeless, his fumbling tedious and frustrating. Kazuhira closed his eyes and tried to enjoy himself, licking his lips and conjuring up images from his latest encounter with John. It helped, some, to imagine it was John’s fingers inside him, stroking him. It was difficult to keep up with his fantasy when he had to give so many orders at the same time.

“My lord, please, put it in,” he finally gasped, theatrically writhing about.

His client cleared his throat several times. “I, uh, I don’t think. I might have had too much to drink, you see,” he said apologetically, gesturing towards his soft member. “I-is that a problem?”

“These things happen, my lord,” Kazuhira smiled. “You have already pleased me greatly. There is no need to continue if you do not want to, my lord.”

“I think…” the customer began, clearing his throat again. “I’d like to make you come, with my, uh, my fingers, if I can and if that’s alright I mean.”

Kazuhira’s smile was straining now. “I would be delighted, my lord,” he nevertheless said, continuing to work his dick with his hand, setting a nice pace for himself. When he felt the fingers inside him move again, thrusting deeper, the client moving closer to get a better angle, he closed his eyes again and thought of John. His overpowering gaze, the muscles in his body working under Kazuhira’s hands, the soft groans and occasional foreign words he let slip.

It was working, he could feel himself becoming more and more excited, arousal twisting in his gut. If he shifted just so, the angle of the customers fingers pushing into him was much more satisfying.

“Yes, my lord, just like that,” he encouraged the flustered man on, his own hand rubbing his cock with more squeeze now. His eyebrows scrunched up, his breathing coming quicker. John would spur him on, would bend down to mouth at his lips, nibble at his jaw and push him towards the edge. He would feel John’s beard scratch his heated skin and fear he’d fall apart completely.

“Oh… oh…!” Kazuhira would moan and wail, as he did, pumping his dick faster, feeling that familiar clench inside him, warning him of his impending release. He would cry out John’s name and then be corrected as John didn’t like his real name being used during sex. He felt his balls draw up and was finally coming, his orgasm pulsing through him, making his thighs quiver. Spurts of white seed stained his belly, and he was so engrossed in his fantasy that the only word that fell from his lips with heartache was…

“Snake…!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult for me to write, I had a thousand more things I wanted to include but...


	9. Chapter 9

It was finally time for the Star Festival. Although there were different kinds of celebrations all summer long, the Star Festival was Kazuhira’s favourite. He found the story behind the festival inspirational; two star-crossed lovers separated by a river of stars, allowed a meeting only on the seventh night of the seventh month. And if it rained, the river overflowed and they couldn’t meet at all, having to work hard for another year in hopes of a clear night the next summer.

Various paper decorations were hung up the Quarter; streamers with long, colourful paper strips waving in the fragrant breeze, colourful cranes and kimonos made of paper. The Pleasure Quarter was not the only place to gather for the festival, but definitely the most popular one. And the festivals at the Quarter were always a bit flashier, gaudier and bigger than outside the gates. Several vendors lined the streets, selling delicious foods ranging from grilled meats on sticks to savoury dumplings and shaved ice with syrup. Others were selling festival masks, hair ornaments, perfumes, while others hosted small games.

Kazuhira walked alongside his patron, Nishigawa, who had booked him for the festival. The lord was dressed in traditional Japanese clothing for the festival, a cool grey kimono with a muted patterned overcoat. Kazuhira wore a one-layered kimono in a dark cobalt blue with white butterflies and flowers cascading around his figure. His sash was a bright orange with small pale petals, tied in the front with a drum bow. His hair was tied up to a small bun on the crown of his head, both to show off his neck and to escape the heat of the short night. On his feet, he wore wooden sandals.

All around them, people were in a festive and cheerful mood, vendors crying out their wares, street performers dazzling young girls with their tricks, dancers on high pedestals surrounded by torches, with the ever-present sound of music filling the air. Smells of the different foods mingled with the luxuriance of greenery; orange blossoms and moon flowers seemed to shine softly in the darkness of the hot night.

Kazuhira was bubbling with excitement, even if he wasn’t in the company he wished to be in. But Nishigawa was a good customer, pleasant and kind, and of course with a lot of money. He had already purchased a small hairpin for Kazuhira from one of the market vendors, the silver pin adorned with small glass flowers. As they advanced through the crowds, Kazuhira kept trying to discreetly scan the throngs of people for John. Though even if John was there, Kazuhira wasn’t sure how he could meet him, with Nishigawa at his side.

It was easy to tell who visitors were and who belonged in the Quarter from the placing of the bow of their sash, as only prostitutes wore their bows in the front. Many had a patron at their sides, but there were those who walked with their colleagues, purely having fun, or were tasked with attending to the young trainees. Kazuhira grabbed his patron’s arm and pointed to the grove of potted bamboo trees with colourful notes of paper hanging from each slender branch.

“My lord, shall we not go and write our wishes?” he asked, eyes alight with excitement. Nishigawa patted his hand and agreed with a warm smile, heading over to a stall with colourful papers cut into shape and ink-brushes. They had to wait a while before their turn, as so many others were also keen on the main attraction of Star Festival – the wishing.

Out in the world, boys wished for better penmanship and girls for better sewing skills, but inside the Quarter, the wishes were a bit different. Some were general, like happiness or good health or beauty, while others were more specific, such as rich clients, a quick end to a term or better fellatio skills!

“Will you write my wish, my lord?” Kazuhira asked as they approached the stall. Around half the nation was literate, but a whore’s son was not among those. He could recognize some characters, such as his name and some very basic, one-character words, but not enough to read or write. There was a service at the stall, for a few coins someone else would write your wish for you on paper.

“Of course, my blossom. What is your wish?” Nishigawa asked, dipping a brush in the inkwell, ready to write on Kazuhira’s choice of yellow paper. Kazuhira had thought long about what he would wish on this special night, but had to take into consideration the fact that he wouldn’t be writing the wish himself.

“Please write ‘peace’, my lord,” he beamed happily.

“Oh? Your namesake then, Kazuhira,” Nishigawa chuckled. “What kind of peace are you thinking of? Peace of mind, peace between nations, or perhaps peace and order?”

“Peace between nations, I think. John--, I mean, a customer told me that we are even now at war with China. But we don’t know it because the battles are fought far away from here,” Kazuhira explained, cursing himself for his accidental slip.

Nishigawa arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? How clever you are. I shall write it down then,” he said and began to paint the strokes, bold lines appearing on the small strip of paper. The two characters flowed together with Nishigawa’s penmanship, almost like a single continuous line, a small river of ink with a story to tell.

“Thank you, my lord,” Kazuhira beamed, accepting the strip of paper, staring at the characters for peace on the surface. “What will you wish for?” he asked curiously. As the paper wishes were hung on branches for everyone to see, they were no secrets. Though some believed that they should hang their wishes as discreetly as possible and not tell anyone what they wished for, otherwise it would not come true. But with traditions as old as the Star Festival, there were bound to be variations.

“I think I shall wish for ‘peace’ as well,” Nishigawa replied with a strange glance at Kazuhira. He dipped the brush in ink again, and wrote down his wish. Kazuhira peeked at the blue strip of paper and compared it with his own.

“But, that’s not the same as mine,” he exclaimed. The characters were the same, but they were in a different order. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realized that Nishigawa had written Kazuhira’s name on the paper.

“You’re right, my flower. This is a different kind of peace,” he said with a smug smile on his face. Kazuhira let out a laugh, and thought no more of it. They approached the bamboo trees, each choosing a nice branch to hang the papers on. The slips of paper along with the paper decorations would be set on fire when the night was over and placed to swim down the small river on the side of the Quarter. The flames would burn the earthly aspects and raise the hopes and wishes to the heavens.

Kazuhira closed his eyes and brought his hands up to prayer, bowing his head. In his mind, he explained to whatever spirits that were listening that his peace should very much also include John, but he couldn’t write it down because of the circumstances. He was sure the spirits would understand his situation.

“Do you like grilled sweetfish, Kazuhira?” Nishigawa asked, stirring Kazuhira from his silent prayer.

“Oh yes! Can we get some, please, my lord?” he asked, already bouncing back towards the food stalls.

Their path was blocked with a parade, though. The greatest courtesan of the Quarter was the star of it, her numerous escorts outlining her path. She was a sight to behold. Tall blocks of black, lacquered wood were fastened to the soles of her sandals, elevating her high above the hordes of people. Her gait was delicate and slow, each step a lazy, complicated dance. She had to hold on to the shoulder of one of her escorts, a piece of silk between them, of course.

Kazuhira stood in admiration, staring at the procession. The courtesan’s eyes were fixed to the distance, her chin held high, truly a royal creature from another world. Layers upon layers of the finest silks dressed her, her pale skin accentuated by the gigantic black hairpiece on her head, worked into multiple rolls and buns. No more than eight hairpins were placed in her jet black hair, some with delicate metal strips tinkling with each step. Several layered sashes were tied around her waist, the largest one of black silk and threaded silver, reaching down all the way to her bare toes. If the Quarter had a queen, she would be it. Artists were following her course, trying to memorize every detail to paint later. Tomorrow they would be the hottest items on sale, prints being sold to every interested person. Photographers could not take a good picture in the dark of the night, so they would invite the great courtesan over into their studio for a photograph.

“She’s exquisite,” came Nishigawa’s comment from Kazuhira’s side, his patrons arm wrapping around his waist. Kazuhira leaned into the touch as he was instructed, pressing into his client’s side.

“Oh but she is. Everyone wishes they could be as elegant as her, as graceful and lovely,” Kazuhira sighed as the parade passed them by. He started again for the stall from where he could smell the aroma of sweetfish, grilled to perfection on wooden sticks. But there, on the other side of the path that had formed behind the parade, he spotted a tall foreigner in a dark blue coat. It was John. Kazuhira’s stomach was tingling from the moment he laid his eyes on John, who was apparently trying to choose the best grilled squid from the stall next to the sweetfish.

“Come, my lord, the sweetfish!” he said excitedly, hoping his nervousness didn’t reflect in his voice. He skittered out of his patrons arms and made his way to the stall. He made a show of looking at the aromatic pieces of fish, leaning from side to side, before noticing John “by chance”.

“John, you came!” he greeted him, wanting to touch his arm but aware of his patron closing in on them. John turned, now a stick of grilled squid in hand, a warm smile on his lips. Kazuhira hoped the smile was for him and not for the squid.

“Kaz, there you are. I asked for you at your brothel, but they said you were occupied,” he said, taking a bite off the delicacy, chewing in a not too civilized manner. “Are you alone?”

“Kazuhira is with me,” replied Nishigawa before Kazuhira could open his mouth. His patron inclined his head courteously to John. “My name is Nishigawa, how do you do,” he introduced himself in a stiff manner.

John bowed back, a little surprised. “John. A pleasure to meet you,” he replied, eyes narrowing when Nishigawa’s hand returned easily around Kazuhira’s waist.

“Indeed. A good night to you, sir,” Nishigawa said coldly, turning them both away from John and back to the matter of sweetfish.

Kazuhira looked back desperately to John, pleading him to wait for him with a silent gaze, to not leave. Trying to convey to John that he’d much rather be with him than Nishigawa, but that he couldn’t ditch his customer either. He saw something dark pass over John’s features, before he stalked off with tense shoulders.

“I assume he was a client as well?” Nishigawa asked when John was out of earshot. Kazuhira tried to keep his expression neutral, instead of showing the disappointment of his moment with John being interrupted so quickly.

“Yes, my lord. I’ve seen many of our customers here tonight,” he said, attempting to make little of John’s appearance.

“You haven’t made that kind of face when you’ve seen others,” Nishigawa commented and paid the vendor for two sticks of grilled fish. Kazuhira’s face burned with shame as he accepted the food with a thank you. He stayed quiet for a while after that, enjoying his fish and hoping his patron wasn’t angry with him.

At midnight, there was a show of fireworks. There was no need to find a good spot to enjoy them, as they illuminated the whole Quarter with their dazzling colours. A sound of excitement coursed through the onlookers with each new burst of light against the dark night sky. The moon was waxing, almost full, its light minor in comparison with the fireworks and lights of the festival below. Kazuhira applauded with others in the crowd, his earlier excitement returned with the sight of fireworks.

Soon after, Nishigawa bade them to return to Lotus Shadow to end their evening. After all, Kazuhira wasn’t paid only for his company. During the months after his debut, Kazuhira had found that his encounters with Nishigawa were quite predictable. He would call Kazuhira his blossom or his flower, never remove his kimono and always had Kazuhira on all fours. Tonight was no different, Kazuhira thought, face red with exertion as his patron thrust into him, panting and gasping as skin slapped against skin.

Ever since the night when Kazuhira had accidentally cried out John’s name with a customer, he couldn’t truly relax with his clients. He was constantly worried he’d make the same accident again and tried to keep as quiet as possible, directing all his focus on his patron. That time, he had gotten away with it, threatening to tell everyone that his customer was impotent in exchange for his silence. It had been childish, but so far, it seemed to be working, or at least the Master had not heard of it.

Something was different tonight, however. Kazuhira thought Nishigawa was nearing his release, when his patron suddenly reached around and started to pump Kazuhira’s prick.

“M-my lord?” Kazuhira asked, panting, turning his head to catch a glance of his patron. It was a welcome change to be sure, but still.

“You’re tense, my flower,” his patron said. “Relax.”

Kazuhira pressed his forehead back into the pillow with a moan as Nishigawa synchronized his movements, making small, jabbing thrusts with his hips while jacking the prostitute off. Kazuhira couldn’t help the feeling of wrongness seeping through him, the hand on his cock feeling foreign instead of welcome. He clenched his fists, doing everything he could to keep himself in the moment, instead of looking inside for inspiration and pleasure from his memories. True, he was aroused by the mechanical simulation, soon leaking in his patron’s hand, keening when he felt close to climax.

Nishigawa was relentless, his motions quickening until Kazuhira was trembling in his grasp. Kazuhira bit his lip until he felt the copper tang of blood in his mouth, determined not to embarrass himself as his release washed over him, tendrils of pleasure curling in his veins. His patron finished soon after, his hand sticky with Kazuhira’s release on his hip, staining his skin and the fabric of his summer kimono.

“I’ll come visit you again tomorrow,” Nishigawa said before leaving. He had waited long enough for Kazuhira to clean himself up and arrange his clothes again before saying his goodbyes, another surprising change to his routine.

“I will be waiting for you, my lord,” Kazuhira said with a deep bow. He waited patiently for the sliding door to close, then began to pace around the room. What were the chances of John still being at the festival? If he left now, could he still find him? Would he be angry? There was no reason, though, rationally speaking, as John knew very well what Kazuhira’s job entailed. He couldn’t forget that look on his face though, almost like John was hurt.

No, he would take his chance and look for John. He dashed down the stairs, telling the staff downstairs that he would go back to the festival to pick up a new client.

Which could have been true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a [contemporary example](https://youtu.be/QtaDz-VwHhA?t=1m50s) of the oiran 8-step walk. Here is a [clip from the film "Yoshiwara Enjo"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ViJXxAyrFGs), which was another inspiration for this fic. :)


	10. Chapter 10

Ultimately, it was the other way around. Kazuhira was found, instead of finding. After wandering about the festival area for a while without finding John, he ventured outside the commotion. A simple shrine was enclosed by a myriad of green leaves, bringing immediate calm in contrast to the energetic atmosphere of the festival. It was there Kazuhira meandered, desperate enough to ask the spirits for help. They had to be benevolent on a night like this, he thought. The shrine was naught more than a path of stone steps leading to a raised altar-like structure. A gate made of stone held the name for the shrine and its patron deity, two simple pillars with horizontal beams at the top.

He heard a sound in the dark shadows and moved to inspect it, when suddenly something grabbed him, the world spinning uncontrollably for a few precious moments. The motion came to a rather abrupt halt when the back of his head connected with the tall stone pillar of the shrine gate. A hand was pressing against his chest, forcefully, holding him pinned. Kazuhira’s first reaction was to punch his assailant, swinging his fist in a wide arc in reflex, but the punch never landed, as John caught Kazuhira’s wrist.

“John!” Kazuhira exclaimed, surprised and relieved. But John’s face still wore the same dark look from before, at the food stalls.

“Did he touch you, Kaz?” John growled at him, a gleam almost predatory in his eyes, lighted by the summer moon.

“Wha- John?” Kazuhira asked, head still spinning from the sudden attack on his person. He felt like the air was knocked out of his lungs and a pain was throbbing in the back of his head.

“I said, did he touch you?” John asked again, crowding Kazuhira, moving closer to him.

“You mean Nishigawa? That man you saw me with? Of course he did!” Kazuhira scoffed, annoyed by how things played out. He didn’t mean for them to meet like this. John must have followed him around and now snuck up him, angry.

“Where?” John insisted and continued when Kazuhira didn’t seem to grasp his meaning. “Did he kiss you?”

“What are you on about?” Kazuhira raised his voice. Did John have some sort of voyeuristic streak? Kazuhira felt exasperated. “If you really want to know then yes, my client did kiss me and more.”

Without waiting for elaboration, John crushed his lips against Kazuhira’s, although the youngest of the pair would hardly call it a kiss, more like an assault. Kazuhira did assent though, relaxing minutely against John’s dry lips, allowing John’s tongue to invade his mouth.

“Wh- what are you doing?” Kazuhira had to ask after a moment, his hands pushing John away. John’s movements didn’t feel like a kiss at all, his tongue persisting inside Kazuhira’s, licking and lapping systematically around, with purpose.

“I’m… cleaning you,” John said quietly, the fight in him abating. His eyes darted off somewhere downwards, an almost pained look on his rugged face. Kazuhira just stood there, baffled, something like the beginnings of a question coming from his mouth. John’s lips returned against his mouth, continuing the incessant licking. Kazuhira tried to respond to the strange kiss, but found it difficult. He did like the sense of urgency in John’s movements, the way his body kept him against the cool stone at his back and the noises John kept making. The hand on his chest started sliding downwards, around his waist and onto his backside. With spread fingers, John squeezed, his middle finger dipping between his buttocks, crumpling the thin fabric.

“And here? Did he touch you here?” John asked, voice deep and raspy. It sent shivers down Kazuhira’s spine, a small gasp escaping him at the forceful touch.

“Yes,” Kazuhira answered truthfully, still not quite comprehending John’s actions. “But why do you—“

“Turn around,” John interrupted and when Kazuhira didn’t react quickly enough, spun him around to face the pillar.

“What the hell?!” Kazuhira said, severely forgetting his manners. Not that John seemed to mind. Kazuhira craned his neck, turning his head to the side to see John. The older man was falling on his knees, rucking up the hem of Kazuhira’s summer kimono all the way up to the sash around his waist. His hands stayed on Kazuhira’s ass, keeping the fabric away, lightly rubbing.

“I told you,” John mumbled, leaning close enough that Kazuhira could feel his breath on his skin. “I’m cleaning you.”

Kazuhira yelped in surprise, jolting, when he felt John’s face against the sensitive skin of his ass, that wet tongue making its appearance again to lick into his cleft. John let out a puff of hot air, making Kazuhira squirm at the sensation, his breath hitching. When John’s presence moved back, it was quickly replaced with a globe of spit falling from his mouth, after which he was back with his clever mouth. John moved his hands, trying to carry out both keeping the kimono away and spreading Kazuhira’s behind, his beard scraping the edges of soft skin.

“A-hah, John!” Kazuhira gasped out when John’s tongue slipped inside his loose hole, the slick muscle repeating the same licking and lapping that was recently done on Kazuhira’s mouth. It felt unbelievably good, hot and intimate and new, as nobody had serviced him in such a way before. Kazuhira could only gasp and moan softly as John continued his actions, alternating between thrusting his tongue in and out and laving at the skin at his disposal. He could feel himself growing hard, cock twitching to life in the confines of his kimono.

“A-are you sure they don’t call you Snake becau- because of your tongue?” Kazuhira panted, pushing his hips out, supporting himself against the pillar. It felt like John’s tongue could reach so deep into him, writhing inside him, the tip pushing adamantly against his walls.

“I hope not,” John chuckled, breathing heavily. “Could you hold this?” he asked, indicating the rumpled fabric he was clenching. Obeying with pleasure, Kazuhira put his hands on his back, clutching his kimono. He had to lean forward to gain his balance, his hips jutting out, resting his shoulder against the pillar. Kazuhira could hear John sucking on something, soon to find out it was his finger that now poked at the puckered muscle at his hole.

Kazuhira had all forgotten about their surroundings, brain focused on the singular sensations John was giving him as his two fingers delved inside him. Even John’s fingers seemed to have a mission, prodding and curling in his channel, scooping out evidence of his encounter with Nishigawa. It seemed to become a habit. Kazuhira had the faintest thought of John sucking poison out of him, like venom from snakebite. Suddenly, John added his tongue into the mix with his fingers, spreading him, manoeuvring his tongue just inside the rim.

“Ohh, that feels good,” Kazuhira keened, the hot, intricate feeling making his hole flutter with anticipation. Too soon, John removed himself, standing up to nuzzle Kazuhira’s neck, his face moist from his earlier actions.

“Kaz, I—“ he started, unsure, words blowing hot air into the younger man’s ear. Kazuhira let the back of his kimono fall down again, turning to face John, finding him in a state of anguish.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” John ground out, forcing the words through gritted teeth. It sounded like a guilty confession, like someone saying they can’t stop biting their nails, or an alcoholic admitting they can’t stop drinking.

“I know that you sleep with others for a living. But seeing you back there, in this thin little thing—“ John’s hands moved to caress Kazuhira’s chest, gathering said cloth of his summer kimono in his fists.

“—with that man’s hands on you, I just…” John pressed even closer, his body flush against Kazuhira’s, layers of cloth crinkling between them. Kazuhira could feel John’s hardness, both moaning faintly when Kazuhira rocked his hips experimentally. A hand snaked around his neck, fingers threading into loosened locks of blonde hair.

“John…” Kazuhira breathed out quietly, their faces close enough for him to feel John’s breath on his skin. Something seemed to be lodged in his throat, constricting his airways. John couldn’t stop thinking about him? John was jealous? Kazuhira didn’t know how to react to this. A part of him was overjoyed, to think that his feelings were reciprocated, that John felt something for him, but another part was afraid. This wasn’t how Kazuhira had anticipated it at all; John was supposed to just leave one day never to return, like in the love songs, to leave Kazuhira to sweetly pine for him. A sudden realization dawned on him.

“You’re not paying me,” he stated, hand on John’s shoulder, slipping under the lapel of his coat. “So you’re not my customer, you’re my…” he trailed off, swallowing loudly. How could he be so excited and nervous at the same time?

“Lover,” he finished with a whisper, the single word weighing heavily between them. Kazuhira peered into John’s eyes, searching for encouragement, for bravery to go through with this folly. For he knew it was a poor idea and meant nothing but trouble for him, possibly for John too. His heart thumped in his chest so loud that he was sure it reverberated in John’s body as well.

“Kaz,” John said, softly, stroking Kazuhira’s cheek with a rough thumb. “Can I kiss you?”

Kazuhira replied by overwhelming John’s mouth with his lips. It was different this time, really a kiss, lips moving hungrily against each other. Kazuhira thought the taste of himself on John’s tongue was a little strange, but the thought was quickly forgotten as John’s hands started roaming on his body again, smoothing down his arms, his sides, slithering up against his chest. He ground their hips together, rocking against Kazuhira, who responded eagerly, creating a pleasant friction between their bodies. Kazuhira’s hands cradled John’s head, ardently soaking up the earnest kisses.

“What are you doing?!” came suddenly a voice from the edge of the grove. Both men jumped at the sound, John readying his pistol in the blink of an eye.

“Yuu?!” Kazuhira asked in disbelief. His colleague with the usually cheerful demeanour stood just a short way from them; his features clear in the moonlight. Seeing the stern look on Yuu’s face made Kazuhira sense that this was not going to end well.

“I have to tell the Master,” Yuu said solemnly, exchanging looks with both men at the shrine gate before turning around to run off.

“No! Yuu, wait, please!” Kazuhira pleaded, smoothing down his kimono as best he could. “How didn’t you hear him?!” he hissed at John, who stood there dumbfounded with pistol in hand.

“I was distracted,” John responded flatly, holstering his firearm. Kazuhira felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been splashed on him, dousing off any desire in his blood.

“I—I have to go after him,” Kazuhira called out, wooden soles of his sandals clacking against the stone tiles as he dashed after his colleague. He could hear John cry out behind him, but didn’t turn back, focused on racing Yuu down. If he just caught him before he reached the House, he could surely persuade him, even bribe him if needs must, he thought desperately. He could see Yuu’s running figure weave across the festive crowd, gaining distance. Plenty of people reprimanded him loudly for bumping into them, slowing his advance. It didn’t help that he was taller than Yuu, not being able to slink as easily between the throngs of people.

Kazuhira ran as fast as he could, but it was not enough. As he arrived to the House, he burst inside and saw the Master’s office door open. He rushed into the office and saw immediately that it was too late. The Master knew.

“I had thought to ask you whether this was true, Kazuhira,” the Master said, looming over his desk. “But I need not. Your attire speaks volumes,” he said in an icy tone, glancing Kazuhira over.

“No, Master, please, it’s not what you think--!” Kazuhira tried, rubbing his hands together. Yuu just stood there silent, arms crossed. Kazuhira thought he could see some hidden resentment in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was envy.

“You son of a bitch!” Kazuhira shouted, lunging at his colleague, grabbing his collar with the intent of wiping that accusing look off his face with his fists. At the first sign of violence, the Master shouted for the barkers, who quickly separated the two fighting prostitutes. Both combatants were panting harshly, Kazuhira struggling against his captor, cursing his colleague.

“Leave him,” the Master said, gesturing towards Yuu. “Tie this one up,” he ordered.

Colour drained from Kazuhira’s face at those words, at the punishment he would receive. He would be bound with rope, his legs and arms tied tightly to his body, all the way from ankles to shoulders. He’d then be placed outside to sit on the ground, just to the side of the entrance, to be shamed by passers-by and clients alike. He would sit there all night, enduring the mockery and ridicule of others, as it was a well-known type of punishment in the Quarter. Lashings were also fairly popular, hindered by the fact that only the prostitutes’ feet could be whipped so that no marks would remain seen.

“Tried to run away, did ya?” asked a drunk man wandering by, laughing loudly at Kazuhira, bound and embarrassed. It was humiliating and demeaning to be put to the stocks like that. “You look like a proper cocksucker,” he slurred, wobbling dangerously. “Wha happ’n? They bring you a pussy instead? And you went shrieking to the gates!” he bellowed on, satisfied at the angry growl his victim shot back.

“Get lost, you old fuck!” Kazuhira replied with animosity. “I bet a sad fucker like you can’t get any without paying!”

“Now listen here, you little bitch--!” the drunkard garbled, raising his hand for a slap.

“That’s enough!” came the Master’s clear voice. The man ignored him and brought his hand down anyways, but his aim was so off that Kazuhira didn’t even need to dodge, the palm of his hand connecting with Kazuhira’s shoulder instead of his face.

“Deserves a beating, this one,” he spat, but started to wobble away from Kazuhira and the Master. The latter slid his hands into the sleeves of his overcoat, as was his custom, and gave Kazuhira a pitiable look. Kazuhira stared at the Master with fierce resentment burning in his eyes. After a moment of silence, the Master spoke.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he started, squatting down to Kazuhira’s level. “I’ve made some inquiries about your John.” The name was pronounced with loathing. “Did he tell you he’s married?”

“What?” Kazuhira asked, dubious. Was this some kind of plot, a stick in the wheels to discourage his affections, or the truth?

“And he has two boys, twins,” the Master continued.

“How would you know?” Kazuhira questioned.

“I have my sources. So, you see, he’s not worth all this trouble.”

Kazuhira’s shoulders sagged as his heart sank. If it was true, then why hadn’t John said anything? Was he hiding it? Kazuhira had thought about the possibility that John was just some swindler, someone who would get into good graces with someone just to leech off them whatever he could get. He didn’t want to believe it, recalling the sincerity he thought he heard in John’s words just a few hours earlier at the shrine. Or was he just that naïve, ready to fall in anyone’s arms that showed him kindness?

“Oh, and before I forget,” the Master said, rising back up. The moonlight glinted off his spectacles, hardening his features.

“The lord Nishigawa will make a very generous offer to you tomorrow. You _will_ accept it.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boring and predictable chapter ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Late in the following morning, Kazuhira was getting dressed. He had Renichi to help him physically and in particularly in the form of mental support, distraught with the meeting he would be attending. His attire for the day would be more formal than usual, a crisp, dark cerulean kimono on top of a pure white under-kimono. He held up the folded fabric at his waist, allowing Renichi to fasten it with a thin strip of cloth. The sash he would wear on top of it was black with silver-coloured threads crisscrossing like spider webs, simple yet elegant. On top of it all would be worn a thigh-length black overcoat.

“What do I do?” Kazuhira asked, devastation clear in his voice.

Renichi circled to his front, tying the thin belt into a knot. “What do you want to do?” the shorter courtesan asked wisely.

“I… I don’t know! But I don’t want to be sold to Nishigawa,” Kazuhira sighed, shoulders sagging.

“It’s not often that a prostitute gets a serious offer so soon after debuting,” Renichi said in a neutral tone, fetching the long sash from the floor. “And the lord seems like a reasonably pleasant man. I’m sure you’ll be happy working for him,” he continued.

Kazuhira raised his arms to allow his colleague more space to work the sash around his waist. “I’ve been telling that to myself all night,” he sighed. “What if I just refuse him? Or, or run away?” A glint of hope sparked in his blue eyes.

“Kazuhira… You’re not in a position to turn him down,” Renichi sighed, knowing how hard this sudden change was for his friend. Especially the circumstances leading to it.

“Norio refused his offer! Why can’t I?” Kazuhira insisted, flapping his arms for good measure.

“He’s different. He’s popular enough that he doesn’t have to sit on display anymore. He gets offers right and left,” Renichi explained, like telling a child why the sky was blue for the tenth time. “And Norio hasn’t been caught red-handed with a lover.”

At the mention of last night’s events, Kazuhira sighed again. Even with the long night spend bound outside thinking about his situation from all angles, he wasn’t sure at all what to believe. Could it really be that John was some sort of fraud, that Kazuhira had been too childish and saw only what he wanted to see? Or was the Master just fabricating facts to discourage his pursuit of John? In the end, he figured that it wasn’t the fact whether John was married or not that shocked him, but that he hadn’t told Kazuhira. Plenty of married men visited brothels, including Kazuhira’s own. But he thought they had a connection with John, something special.

Perhaps John had just used him. Those stories were abounding in the Quarter as well. They start off as a secret lover to a prostitute and then start asking for small sums of money, for medicine to their daughter or to settle debts. Then the sums start growing and growing and soon the besotted prostitute is swindled of all their money, forcing them to stay even longer at their brothel. Not that John had exactly been showering him with words of adoration and flowery declarations of undying love like these crooks use to do.

“I swear I’ll kick the daylights out of Yuu if I see him today,” Kazuhira warned, body jerking as Renichi yanked the sash to tighten it.

“He’s just envious,” Renichi said.

“Why are you defending him? I thought you were my friend,” Kazuhira pressed, ready to get hurt all over again.

“He’s sick, Kazuhira. The doctor diagnosed him with syphilis yesterday,” the black-haired prostitute said quietly in order to keep the words inside the room.

“Syphilis!” Kazuhira repeated. While it was not the most common disease among prostitutes, it was a slow but certain death. Some said that mercury could cure it, but most died of the treatment before getting well again. Yuu wouldn’t be able to service patrons and if the sores and lesions grew numerous and large, he’d be shunned from the society at large. He’d die alone, an outcast. The thought made Kazuhira feel a tinge of guilt.

“I bet that’s another reason the lord is buying you out so soon. He wants you healthy,” Renichi remarked. Healthy for bed warming didn’t need to be said out loud.

“Renichi,” Kazuhira said, suddenly serious. The colleague helped him into his overcoat, even if it wasn’t necessary. “If…” the blonde continued, faltering. “If John comes asking for me, will you tell him where I am? Please?” Kazuhira wanted to hear the truth from John himself. He didn’t want to believe that he had been so wrong.

“I will. I promise,” Renichi nodded, smoothing Kazuhira’s attire like a nervous mother. “There, everything’s just right. People will stare at you in awe when you leave these gates!”

\---

The actual meeting was more of a formality at this point with Kazuhira accepting his fate. It was held in the Master’s office with the participants gathered around a table. On one side were Kazuhira and the Master, and on the other were lord Nishigawa and his wife. She was dressed in Western clothing from head to toe, a mauve dress with full upper sleeves and a full back skirt, accentuating her slim waist. She wore a hat on her head, decorated with lace and ribbons. She was younger than her husband with smooth skin and dark eyes slanting upwards. Kazuhira thought she would be beautiful if she smiled, but her serious demeanour suggested that such an action was a rarity.

“As I’m sure you already know, I have made a generous offer to the Master of this House,” Nishigawa began, indicating the neat stack of notes on the table. “I am offering you a position in my household as a servant,” he continued. Kazuhira tried to keep a neutral face and hoped his melancholy wasn’t too visible.

“You will be paid, of course.”

“What would be my duties?” Kazuhira asked, even if he had a fairly good idea of what his duties might entail.

“You will be a personal servant to both me and my wife,” he nodded towards her. “You will do whatever we request of you, within reason of course. Nothing you would be… unfamiliar with.”

So I’ll be at your beck and call all day and all night, Kazuhira thought bitterly.

“What about you, my lady?” Kazuhira questioned. The lady sat up even straighter.

“I would mostly require your company for social events when my husband is away,” she answered, her voice sombre.

“I love my husband, but am unable to fulfil some of his desires,” she continued, peering straight into Kazuhira’s blue eyes.

A moment of silence ensued, in which Kazuhira gathered up enough courage to challenge the Master’s decision to let him go.

“Master, what about my position here? My assets and qualities in regarding the House?” The way Kazuhira had understood it, he was supposed to be valuable to the brothel, an exotic creature whose distinction would be his forte.

“As you have displayed no rebelliousness up until this point, I was willing to forgive your transgression,” the Master said. Kazuhira would have been hopeful if it wasn’t for the past tense the Master was using.

“But the offer lord Nishigawa made was generous enough to change my mind.”

Kazuhira took a deep breath, bowing his head in understanding. If he hadn’t been caught, he could have refused this offer. All of this was actually John’s fault, he thought in vain, as it was John who initiated any amorous activities. But stopping him didn’t even occur to Kazuhira, so infatuated was he with the foreigner.

“I…” Kazuhira started, Norio’s words echoing in his mind saying that the lord will grow tired of him eventually. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing after all. He could consider it another term of indentured servitude, after a fashion.

“I would be honoured to work for you, my lord, my lady,” he said, bowing as deeply as he could over the table. He thought he could hear the Master exhale at that, apparently hesitant about what Kazuhira would say after all.

“Excellent,” Nishigawa said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. The atmosphere of tension seemed to melt away in the room, leaving only Kazuhira unsure of his future.

Kazuhira was invited to leave with them immediately, the lord and Master doing some paperwork to finalize the transaction. It was not like Kazuhira had anything to pack; all his items belonged to the House. Even the clothes he wore now would be returned to the brothel once his new employer would grant him new ones.

As he left the office, he found his colleagues gathered in the foyer.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” Renichi asked, seeing the answer in Kazuhira’s demeanour. He just nodded with a hum.

“I’m so proud of you,” beamed Itou, clapping him on the shoulders. “You’ll be happy, I just know it.”

“Goodbye, Kazuhira,” Norio said with a wistful tone.

Kazuhira heard someone sniffing and spotted Yuu standing behind the others. He didn’t even look at Kazuhira and didn’t say anything. Kazuhira thought it might be better if he didn’t say anything either, knowing he couldn’t forgive his colleague for a while.

“You make it sound like I’m dying,” Kazuhira said, attempting a cheerful tone. “I’ll come visit you when I get time off! Then you can tell me all about the filthy dogs I’ve been fortunate to miss,” he laughed, the mirth transmitting to his colleagues. Renichi surged forward to grab his friend in a hug, making him promise to come and visit.

“Thank you for everything,” Kazuhira said, bowing formally to the others. They responded in kind, waving him off as he exited the building with his new employer. Two rickshaws were hailed for them outside, the pulled carts rushing over. It was a good source of employment for men with enough strength in their bodies.

He watched the Nishigawas getting on their wider rickshaw, a lush red pillow on the seat, the canopy folded back. Kazuhira followed suite, realizing he’d never rode one before and having to look to his superiors for example on how to climb aboard.

After a while of traversing and getting away from the immediate vicinity of the Pleasure Quarter, Kazuhira was happy that he was seated alone. There was so much for him to see and marvel at, after spending so many years in the miniature world of the Quarter. He couldn’t remember all the buildings he saw, large wooden ones with multiple floors built in the traditional style, side by side with the modern Western stone buildings. He saw theatres, hotels, banks and shops of all kind and every once in a while, he could glimpse the ocean, the smell of salt and seaweed clear when they travelled closer to it.

The streets were bustling with energy, people coming to and fro, children shouting and running past the rickshaws. They passed by many shops with colourful hand-painted signs and flags, some texts seemingly different to Kazuhira’s untrained eyes. He had also thought people would stare at him for his looks, but not many paid him a second glance. It seemed that foreigners were more accustomed to than he thought.

When they finally arrived at his new workplace and home, Kazuhira was abuzz with excitement. The world seemed to have changed so much during his years in the Quarter. He couldn’t wait to get time off and explore the city, even if he hadn’t even begun his work yet.

The Nishigawa house was a traditional-looking home with two floors and plenty of space around it. The curved ridge roof covered dark walls with large windows letting in light into the building. The wires coming from the electricity poles were tethered into the house. Once inside, Kazuhira was overwhelmed by the Western interior. He stopped in awe in the foyer, soaking up the dense curtains and patterned rugs, lavish armchairs and small couches in a whole other pattern dotted every room that he passed. The walls were decorated with paintings and electrical lights and there was so much of everything that for a moment, Kazuhira felt claustrophobic, drowning in the myriad of objects.

Another servant, introduced as Midou, came to guide Kazuhira into the servants’ part of the house. There weren’t many servants; Midou as the butler, a maid for the lady and two persons working in the kitchen. Their quarters were simpler, without garish wallpapers and an overflow of furniture. There was no time for Kazuhira to settle in at the moment though, as he was expected to change clothes and begin working as soon as possible.

The outfit waiting for him on his new bed was a suit in Western style, as he had thought. He shucked his old clothes off and folded them neatly on the bed, taking a moment to caress the last remnants of his old life softly. Because that’s what was happening here, wasn’t it? A new page in his life was being turned, for better or for worse.

Getting into his new attire wasn’t as easy as it seemed after observing clients do it. The trousers felt itchy and too tight, the white button-up shirt didn’t seem to stay in place and he had no idea how to tie his necktie. At least he supposed it was a necktie, a thin, long strip of black fabric. He was slow to do up the buttons on the grey vest and felt that he couldn’t do anything with his arms after pulling on the black jacket. It was at this point that he realized he should have put on socks and shoes before the coat, so he had to remove it again. How anyone could do anything in these clothes, he didn’t know. Perhaps he’d get accustomed to the sense of fabric constricting everywhere. He slipped his feet into the leather shoes that were picked out for him, tying the laces and stepping around uncomfortably. The leather seemed to rub against his toes and heels, further creating the sense of being prisoner in the suit.

He opened the door to his room with the supposed necktie in hand, asking Midou to help him tie it. It was a surprisingly simple matter of tying it into a ribbon to the front of his throat and folding the collar down.

“Do you have a family name, Kazuhira?” Midou asked while looking Kazuhira over to decide whether he was dressed properly, opening the lapels of his coat for inspection.

“I can’t remember having one,” Kazuhira confessed sheepishly. No one had ever called him other than Kazuhira, although now that he came to think about it, it could have been written in some papers at the brothel.

“Do you have any family? Their names?” Midou insisted, re-buttoning the cuffs of Kazuhira’s white shirt.

“My mother was called Kona. I don’t know how it’s written, other than it was just one character,” Kazuhira confessed sheepishly. How ignorant he must seem in this modern environment, like a peasant who couldn’t even read or write.

“Hmm… Kona with one character. Then it must be the same character as in the word ‘miller’. Quite a lowly name,” Midou surmised. Kazuhira laughed nervously. He could sense some sort of disdain from the distinguished butler, but whether it was due to his origins or the duties he would perform, he wasn’t sure.

“Right,” the butler said, tucking down the sleeves on Kazuhira’s jacket. “Now the last thing to do is cut your hair.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another boring chapter. ;) Originally I planned this story to span 12 chapters, but it seems we're not quite there yet. My new estimate is at 15 chapters.

Kazuhira couldn’t stop staring at his reflection in the handheld mirror. His blonde tresses had been cut radically shorter; instead of reaching deep between his shoulder blades, his hair was now only the length of his index finger. The servant who had cut his hair with a shearing knife had also given him a small tin of sumac wax to slick his hair back with, which was apparently very fashionable at the moment. The wax smelled rancid, being just a by-product, but it was also cheaper and suitable for a servant.

He looked at himself from all angles he could reach with the small mirror, a wide smile on his face. He thought he looked dapper and handsome even in the reflection, more like a customer instead of a prostitute. His blue eyes positively sparked as he touched his new haircut again, fixing some imaginary strand in place. He couldn’t wait to get back to the House to show off his new looks, not to mention how John would react when he saw Kazuhira again.

Right now, Kazuhira felt so happy that he downright refused to believe that he wouldn’t meet John again. There was absolutely no possibility that he would have left the town or country, or that John wouldn’t visit the brothel again to seek Kazuhira out. Although, Kazuhira thought, what if John was put off or offended by the way Kazuhira had dashed away from the shrine without as much as a goodbye. Nevertheless, at this moment he couldn’t believe such a thing would happen. They’d meet and the whole marriage thing would be a big misunderstanding and everything would be all right again.

Kazuhira was positively brimming with glee when the butler called for him, ready to start working. Those first days were exhausting, following Midou around and trying to memorize so many things in such a short span of time. Most of his time was spent nodding and bowing and repeating “yes, sir” or “I understand, sir” as the butler explained everything to him. He got the impression that a good servant is a temperate one, mild-mannered and sort of blends in the décor, so his tenure as a courtesan was actually useful in that way. He could don a mask when he was working, just like at the brothel. This mask was just a little different. At night, he slumped into his bed exhausted, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

His employers were not concerned about his illiteracy as much as his ignorance in table manners and other Western etiquette. After all, he could not be a suitable servant for this house if he didn’t know both rule sets; the traditional Japanese way and the Western way of functioning. He spent hours and hours memorizing the names and functions for all the silverware, where they should be placed on a table and in what order. The amount of rules and decorum seemed ridiculous, but he supposed it was the same for foreigners coming to Japan as well. He just hadn’t thought about the rules and customs of his own culture before being presented with something different.

After a week, his shoes didn’t rub anymore. The blisters had dried up and hardened the skin on his feet. He was getting dressed and undressed faster every day and didn’t have to ask again about everything. He still followed Midou around as an apprentice of sorts, assisting him in various duties around the house. Nishigawa hadn’t called upon him yet for any other kind of work. Kazuhira had started to worry, thinking he might have broken a rule or gone against etiquette; that perhaps he should offer himself up or ask the lord if his services were required. But at the same time, he was enjoying his current schedule of sleeping all night and working all day, like people in the outside world did.

The change had been so sudden that Kazuhira still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Technically, he was now a free man, without monetary debts to anyone. Of course, he owed a debt of gratitude to his employer for taking him on and away from the Quarter. He supposed what Norio said made sense now. He was only technically free and would stay that way until he was relieved of his responsibilities. But now, he could walk around town freely, as long as he did it on his free time and told Midou where he was going. How did they trust him not to run away? He remembered not wanting to be here and frowned at his week-old self. That kid was gone now and in his stead was a new man, an adult of eighteen years.

The first time he got the evening off, Kazuhira knew exactly where he would go. He’d go back to the Quarter and visit his friends, whom he was sure worried about him. He remembered the way back fairly well, having taken note of so many buildings and landmarks on the way to the Nishigawa house.

After walking for the better part of an hour, he arrived. He stopped at the gate, ornate with woodcuttings of flowers and goldfish, lit up against the darkening evening. It was still closed, but would open in a minute to him and a few other eager clients. Kazuhira breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. It felt so different this time, to enter voluntarily and knowing he could leave any time he wanted. Summer was peaking, the heat at zenith almost intolerable and still wholly warm, the afterglow of day burning into the night.

He started walking again as the gate was opened, the very ground beneath him feeling different by extent of his shoes. Life in the Quarter seemed to roll on as usual, bells ringing across the area to signal the start of the evening. Police officers were at the gate to supervise and keep an orderly conduct, at least orderly by the Quarter’s standards. Kazuhira couldn’t help becoming slightly nervous at the sight of the officers, even if his brain knew that they wouldn’t catch him and drag him back to the House.

A smile played on his face as he approached Lotus Shadow, seeing the familiar surroundings again from such a different angle. He was excited but also a little homesick, having spent so many years at the House.

“Hey darling, how much for a night?” Kazuhira drawled when he stopped in front of the display room, barely containing his laughter as he leaned against the lattice. Renichi bounced up immediately at the sight, rushing to meet his friend.

“Kazuhira! Wow, look at you! You’re all dashing now,” he gleamed.

Kazuhira waved at the others sitting on display and received a mixed response. It did nothing to dampen the wide grin on his face though.

“How are you, Renichi? Everything good?” Kazuhira asked, peering into the display room. Norio was nowhere to be seen, but there was no one new either to have replaced Kazuhira yet. It would only be a matter of time.

“Same old really,” Renichi laughed. “Feels so strange without you though. Heavens, you’re really doing well for yourself.”

Kazuhira did a little spin, showing off his new attire.

“So, tell me already! What kind of work are you doing?” Renichi pressed, seating himself close to the lattice. If the Master would come and check, he supposed it would be all right this once, chatting with someone who wasn’t a prospective customer. So Kazuhira told him everything that had happened so far, about the people he met and what the house was like, complained about the multitude of rules he had to learn and the oddities encountered.

“To wear shoes indoors? Isn’t that dirty?” Renichi asked, nose wrinkling.

“I guess, but that’s how they do,” Kazuhira shrugged. He was undoubtedly pleased to have such a good friend as Renichi, even if they weren’t working at the same place anymore. When they were talking, it felt like he hadn’t been away at all, but just picked up at where they left off.

“Has anyone asked for me?” Kazuhira queried after a while, impatient to get his answer but at the same time deeming it impolite to ask directly.

“A few people,” Renichi said with a mischievous look on his face. He stayed silent after that, watching Kazuhira suffer in anticipation.

“Well?!” Kazuhira finally demanded, fingers twiddling the cuffs of his shirt.

“Alright, alright,” Renichi finally chuckled. “Your precious John actually came by the next day of your departure.”

Kazuhira nodded, listening eagerly.

“I told him where you are, but he said he wouldn’t do anything with that information. Instead, he told me where he’s staying.”

“Really? Where? Is he still there?” Kazuhira bombarded his friend with questions.

“Slow down! It’s by the docks, a lodging house called the Sleeping Fox.”

And so Renichi explained what John had told him, repeating the instructions given. He told Kazuhira that he would recognize the place from the picture of a sleeping fox on the sign. Kazuhira nodded away, trying to remember every turn and landmark, but it wasn’t as he knew anything about the route to the docks and figured he’d probably have to ask for advice again on the road. It wasn’t too far, less than half an hour if you knew where you were going. Renichi didn’t know whether John would still be there, so Kazuhira reckoned that the only way to find out would be to visit the place and ask for him.

“I can see you’re all eager to get away from here now,” Renichi teased. “No love for your friends,” he sighed theatrically, wiping away a mock tear.

“You’ll be here if I come back tomorrow,” Kazuhira retorted, glancing back towards the gate.

“And how would you know! Maybe someone has an offer for me too!” Renichi continued the theatrics, before breaking the spell with a smile. “It was nice to see you, Kazuhira. Come visit us again!”

“Thanks, Renichi, you’re the best. See you!” Kazuhira said, already turning to the gate, feet carrying him on their own. He had a good feeling about this, certain that he’d find his way. How hard could it be to find the ocean anyways?

Walking briskly, Kazuhira’s head kept turning left and right, both to absorb everything he saw and to discern any landmarks Renichi had mentioned. Electric lines criss-crossed above him, poles like antlers carrying electricity. He took a right turn at the first crossing, as advised, and continued northeast towards the sea. The narrow streets were lined by buildings on both sides, shops and houses built tightly together in a town block. As a result, when a fire started somewhere in the block, it spread quickly to neighbouring buildings, tearing down the wood in the buildings before anything could be done. Trees and other greenery were aplenty, squeezed between buildings and overflowing in gardens.

Kazuhira looked up and noticed the heavy clouds upon him. He hastened his step, wanting to arrive before any possible rain would fall. There were people around on the streets, some seeming to head towards the pleasure district, others perhaps only enjoying an evening walk, or on their way to a restaurant to drink with their friends. At the next large intersection, Kazuhira heard a rumbling noise and quickly turned his head towards the source of the sound. It wasn’t thunder though, but an automobile that crossed his path. He stopped and openly stared, never having seen one in real life before. The black metal shined in the streetlights, a steady rumble emitting from the vehicle.

For most of his way, he didn’t need to ask for directions but kept his main course towards northeast, deciding to reach the waterfront first. He came across a large park, remembering it from Renichi’s directions. Only a few lamps lighted the park, so there weren’t many people around. The scant light made the surrounding darkness even worse, giving Kazuhira shivers as he hastened through the green area.

At that moment, the heavens opened, cold rain beating down suddenly. Kazuhira rushed to the nearest building, taking cover under the lip of its roof. He would be wet in an instant, his hair and attire all ruined. And there was no guarantee that John would even be at the Sleeping Fox. Even as he realized the foolishness of his venture, Kazuhira sprinted into the rain, running as quick as he could, the soles of his shoes making wet noises against the ground.

He passed by a brick building with towers, another landmark telling him he was on the right path. Hopping over puddles created by the evening downpour, he raced forward, breathing hard. The flow of oncoming people soon trickled to a halt as smarter folks stayed indoors for the duration of the rain.

After a while, the buildings became sparser and lower, turning into warehouses and customs buildings and embassies with colourful flags. Kazuhira thought he could smell the ocean now and started to look for the lodging house, apparently frequented by sailors and other folk traveling through the port. He was drenched to the bone now, clothes wet and ruined, dripping hair clinging to his temples. The rain drummed on the roofs, dulling out any other sounds.

“Hello! Excuse me!” Kazuhira hollered, waving his hand, as soon as he saw someone. The man he stopped had an umbrella folded underneath his arm, deciding that the rain was too hard for the material of the umbrella. He knew about the lodging house though, and pointed Kazuhira towards the right direction. With a wave of thank you, Kazuhira dashed off again, feet squelching in his drenched shoes.

It wasn’t long before he spied the sign of a fox curled on itself, sleeping with one eye open. Warm light spilled out onto the street, inviting Kazuhira in. He pushed through the door, only stopping when he was inside. He panted and heaved, resting his arms against his thighs, taking deep, stabilizing breaths.

“What the hell!” came a voice across the front room of the lodging house. “Did ya take a swim?” An older woman, nearly grey, stood up from where she had been wiping off a table. She was wearing Japanese clothing, even if the setting around her was all Western and modern.

Kazuhira shook his head, gasping for oxygen. “No ma’am, it’s just raining,” he replied, wiping his brow uselessly.

“Yer gonna catch a cold like that, young man,” the woman continued in her crude speech. Kazuhira got the feeling that she was perhaps not the owner of the place, more like hired help, or maybe the begrudged wife of an owner. “Are ya here to rent a room or what?”

Kazuhira took a deep breath, feeling the hammering of his heart slow down to normal levels.

“Actually, I came to see someone. Do you have a guest named John staying here? A man, tall, American?” Kazuhira asked, gesturing with his hands.

The woman mulled over this description for a second. “Oh yeees, he’s a nice fellow. Always pays on time too. Not here now though. Gets usually back around this time,” she chatted on while doing her tasks, clearly used to juggling many things at once.

“Oh, alright. I’ll wait then,” Kazuhira said, looking around for a place to sit. All he had to do now was to wait.


	13. Chapter 13

The ambience of the lodging house’s front room was warm and pleasant, even with the old lady’s muttered complaints about every little detail. As minutes passed, first five, then fifteen, Kazuhira began to feel the cold in his now soggy clothes. He walked about, shivering imperceptibly at first. He realized his foolishness and vanity, agonizing over his wet attire and above all, his blonde hair now darkened by water, plastered along his skull. He tried to comb it back with his fingers, getting the worst off his face. This was not the image he wanted to impress John with.

Outside, the downpour ceased as suddenly as it has started, dark clouds drifting away. The atmosphere was still thick with moisture, infusing the heady smells of summer rain with that of the docks; wood and tar and brick and the salty ocean mixed with scents of green carried on the wind. Inside, Kazuhira peeled off his jacket, setting it to dry on the back of a chair. The old lady paid him and his shivering no mind, and Kazuhira started to regret this whole venture. Maybe he should just go back to the Nishigawa house and come back some other time.

“Evening,” said someone, entering the front room. Kazuhira turned his head at the sound of that familiar, gravelly voice. He had to blink a few times to ascertain what he saw, as the man he had been waiting for wasn’t dressed in his usual getup, but in a dark, forest-green summer kimono, a striped thin sash just above his hips. The kimono emphasised his broad shoulders, the v shape of the collar leading one’s eye down his chest and stomach, the bottom forming a perfect oblong shape.

“John!” he exclaimed from the side of the entrance, overjoyed. John turned towards him and lifted an eyebrow.

“Who the… Kaz? You look like a drowned rat,” he all but snorted, laughter twinkling in his blue eyes. Kazuhira frowned, blinking rapidly, not sure if he should feel offended or apologetic.

“Ya know this kid? Said he’ll wait for ya,” chirped the old lady, hands never stopping in their task of polishing surfaces.

“I know him all right,” John chuckled. “He’s my guest. I’ll take care of him.”

“Not my business,” the old lady said and shrugged her shoulders. Kazuhira thought this must have been some sort of permission granted, because John started for the hallway, inviting Kazuhira with him. The blonde was flustered as he picked up his wet coat and made to follow John deeper into the building.

“I suppose you got caught in that rain?” John asked conversationally with mirth in his tone as he walked to the end of the hall, sandals clattering against the floor with every step.

“Yeah. It wasn’t raining when I left, but then suddenly…” Kazuhira offered in way of explanation, not bothering to state the obvious.

The lock on the correct door opened with a click, allowing both men into the room. It was a plain one, as expected, lacking the extravagance of Kazuhira’s employer’s chambers. A window allowed light into the room, there was a simple, metal-framed bed with white linens that ruled the right side of the room with a chair serving as nightstand. The chair was probably from beneath the small writing desk next to the window. In one corner was a chest of drawers, and to Kazuhira’s immediate relief, a small stove of cast iron radiating heat in the opposite corner.

“Seems like we’ve switched,” John noted, gesturing at their outfits. “Here, I’ll lend you something dry to wear.” John turned to the drawers, fishing out a fresh shirt and simple trousers. “Might be a bit big for you,” he warned, offering the clothes and a towel.

All the while, Kazuhira had been quiet, almost sulking, so disappointed in the humorous reception he got. He had half a mind to just let it be and go, but the offer or warmth and dry clothes weighed heavily in the scales.

“I didn’t mean to get wet, you know,” he defended himself, taking the offered pieces of clothing. John didn’t say anything, just raised his hands in surrender, a smile tugging at his lips. Kazuhira towelled off his hair as best he could. He started to strip down, but four buttons down his shirt, he realized all of a sudden how the thin material of his shirt clung obscenely to his body, the wet fabric almost see-through.

John was leaning against the desk, arms crossed, staring intently at Kazuhira’s stilled fingers. He raised his gaze, meeting Kazuhira’s eyes, and quickly turned his head away. It was hard to see in the dim light of the room, but Kazuhira was sure he saw a flush colouring John’s face. Somehow, the change in their dynamics created awkwardness, neither one really knowing the rules anymore, if there ever were any.

“So, uhh, your, er, friend told you about this place?” John said, eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the wall.

Kazuhira turned around, back towards John, and continued undressing. “Yeah, I came as soon as Renichi told me,” he said, berating himself too late. Did he always have to seem so eager? He peeled the wet shirt off his shoulders and arms, hands getting stuck behind his back in the cuffs he had forgotten to unbutton.

“Here, I’ll help you,” John offered, crossing the distance between them. He pulled at the bunched fabric behind Kazuhira’s back, twisting the younger man’s arms further. Kazuhira was overcome with a fleeting vision of being on his knees, hands bound behind his back and John pounding into him, skin slapping hard against skin. A shiver ran through him. No, he told himself, that wasn’t why he was here. He was here to talk, to clear up the misunderstanding.

“John, I’m sorry I left you at the shrine,” Kazuhira started, clearing his throat.

“Don’t apologize. I heard it caused you a lot of trouble,” John replied, pulling the shirt off and busied himself with hanging it properly on the wicker chair, back turned towards Kazuhira once again.

Kazuhira thought back to the chase and the long night spent bound and humiliated. He bent down to remove his shoes and nasty wet socks. “Yeah… But in the end, it turned out all right,” he continued, kicking off his trousers and realizing even his underwear was wet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that John was still facing the window, and quickly cast his underwear aside to shuffle into the trousers John had given him. They fit surprisingly well. The white shirt was looser around his upper body, folds forming as he stuffed the tails into his trousers.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” Kazuhira began again, turning to face John. “I know it’s stupid, it’s just something I heard and it’s probably not even true,” he rambled, nervous. “John. Are you married?”

John’s dark eyebrows shot up. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Where did you get that idea?”

“The Master told me, after, after the festival,” Kazuhira said. “He probably just said it to discourage me or something.”

“No, it’s true. Does it matter?” John stated squarely, arms crossed, defiant.

Kazuhira blinked. Does it matter? “Of course it does! How can you be dallying with me if you have a wife and children waiting for you back home? I thought you had some kind of morals!” Kazuhira cried out, disenchanted. “I thought—I thought I meant something to you, but a fat lot that’s worth!” He balled his fists, raising his voice. He knew it! The Master and Norio and everyone were right and he was just a naïve kid. “How can you sleep with others if you love your wife?! I bet I’m not the only one either, I bet you have lovers in every country, every town you visit, you—“

“Who are you to talk about fidelity?” John cut in strongly, his voice commanding, interrupting Kazuhira’s tirade.

“It was for work!” Kazuhira argued loudly, not realizing the contradiction in his thoughts and the reality he himself had worked in. Why was it so important to him that John, of all people, stayed faithful? “It’s not like I had a choice,” he finished weakly, the fight gone from him.

John sighed, exasperated, rubbing his forehead. “We’re only technically married.”

“What?”

“Look. Eva’s my friend. Sort of,” John said, keeping his voice calm and level. “She wanted children, but not bastards. We were both being pressured into marriage by our families. So we made a deal,” he continued, looking beyond Kazuhira’s shoulder as if looking into the past to draw his words from. “We’d get married, I’d father her children and then we’d go on living our own lives. I left the country soon after,” he said with a shrug. “So we’re only technically married.”

Kazuhira squinted his eyes, brow furrowing. “That… has to be the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard,” he said flatly. A deal? John’s reasoning made a sort of vague, outlandish sense, but still. “You have children, but you don’t care about them?” he continued, trying to get to the bottom of this strange affair.

“They’re not my kids. I never wanted any, so this suits us both just fine. Are you happy now?” John pressed.

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Kazuhira said, eyes at his bare toes. It wasn’t his business after all to meddle in, particularly with his own circumstances.

A silence ensued, with only the occasional cracking of wood in the stove to be heard.

“I do, you know, care for you,” John confessed, shifting his weight around. “It’s, uh. I’m not usually interested in anyone,” he said, the words forced into the open. “So. That should answer all your accusations.”

Kazuhira stood there, hands on his sides, feeling the distance between them like a wide chasm instead of the few steps. “Oh,” he said, his wit failing him terribly.

Another bout of silence fell in the room.

“C’mere,” John beckoned with a huff, spreading his arms.

Kazuhira obeyed once again and moved closer. John slid his arms around Kazuhira’s waist, his forearms pressing gently against Kazuhira’s sides. It was a curious feeling, Kazuhira thought, mimicking the motion on John. It didn’t tickle, but it felt… nice. Warm. Safe. He stared into John’s eyes, searching for an answer. Was this how home felt?

“I guess we’re both idiots,” John said quietly, chuckling under his breath. He leaned his forehead to meet Kazuhira’s.

The younger man smiled. “I suppose so.” They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the intimate space they created between them, holding each other, breathing the same air. Kazuhira drew back a fraction to press a chaste kiss on John’s lips. “I’m mad for you,” he whispered ardently, not finding better words to express himself with. Apparently John understood, for he kissed him back, giving Kazuhira all the answer he needed.

Soon their hands started to wander while their kisses stayed unhurried and tender. John’s hands felt like hot iron on Kazuhira’s still cool skin through his shirt where they roamed against his back, slipping to caress his shoulders, his neck, carding his fingers through his blonde hair.

“Huh?” John said suddenly, freezing in place. The hand on the back of Kazuhira’s head moved and groped around, feeling his neck before coming back up to the crown of his head. “Where’s your hair?”

Kazuhira rolled his eyes and laughed. “I had it cut when I started my new work. Did you seriously only just notice?”

John grumbled something unintelligible in response and Kazuhira extricated himself from their embrace.

“You could warm me up with your body heat,” he said, the feeble excuse making him drop his gaze to the floor again.

“Oh yeah. A survival technique,” John commented and seemed to genuinely ponder on this so-called technique.

Kazuhira rolled his eyes and was once again stripping down with efficiency. He scrammed quickly under the covers, glancing back at John.

“Well? Are you getting in or what? Weren’t you supposed to warm me up?” Kazuhira huffed.

“Right,” he said, working quickly to remove his simple clothing. Kazuhira felt the bed dip when John lay down next to him and flipped the covers over them both. They were both on their sides, facing the wall, Kazuhira nudging slightly to press his back against John’s front. John placed an arm and a leg across Kazuhira, tightly holding him close. He pressed his nose into Kazuhira’s damp hair, breathing in deeply.

“I kind of liked it long,” he mumbled sotto voce. His warm breath tickled the nape of Kazuhira’s neck, making his skin tingle.

“It’ll grow,” he replied off-handed, much more focused on revelling in the fuzzy warmness spreading in his body, radiating from John.

“I don’t think I’ll be here to see that,” John lamented, taking another deep breath through his nose.

“Are you leaving?” Kazuhira asked quietly, even if he knew the answer. When the storm of conflict would dissipate, he’d leave peace behind him and go, chasing the next storm in a new place.

“Eventually,” John answered truthfully, nuzzling Kazuhira’s neck with his nose.

Leave peace behind him.

“Let’s not think about that right now,” Kazuhira said, voice a little tight around the edges. John nodded against the back of his head, agreeing on keeping the focus on the immediate present instead of an ambivalent tomorrow.

They stayed like that for a while, resting under the meagre covers, breathing deeply. So deeply in fact, that Kazuhira thought John had fallen asleep, until the hand on his chest started moving, fingers tracing circles on his skin, rubbing gently along his chest and stomach.

“Still cold?” John asked, finger brushing over a nipple, tracing soft circles around the nub, making Kazuhira’s breath hitch.

“Freezing,” Kazuhira gasped slightly into the touch, desperate for more.

John’s hand slid lower, palm dragging to the junction of Kazuhira’s leg, mapping out possible interest. The younger man arched his back in response, pressing against John’s crotch without a word. He twitched when John wrapped a hand around his cock and started bringing it to life with slow, easy motions.

“Better?” John asked while he stroked Kazuhira’s swelling cock, rolling the foreskin smoothly back and forth, adding just a tiny bit more squeeze to the motions of his hand.

“Getting there,” Kazuhira answered, pushing his leg back to give John more room. He was almost embarrassed how quickly he hardened in John’s grasp and reached blindly behind him under the covers to repay the favour. It was awkward, so John nudged him to turn around to face him.

John filled in his hand, a pleasant weight on his nimble fingers, the look on his rugged face something that Kazuhira would etch into memory. His mouth was lightly agape, eyelids relaxing the more he touched John. Suddenly his hand was swatted away and John hooked a leg over his hips, slotting them tightly together.

“Oh,” Kazuhira sighed as his cock was crowded with John’s in the tight space between them, his hips rolling on their own volition to rut against John. It felt wonderful and Kazuhira couldn’t keep his mouth away from John’s, breath quickening between eager kisses, hands kneading wherever he could reach.

“Kaz,” John interrupted all too soon, stilling the grinding of his hips. “Would you like to switch?”

Kazuhira raised an eyebrow. “Switch?”

John rolled them over and sat up straddling Kazuhira’s waist, revealing their bodies from under the covers. “I’d really like to try and ride you,” he said, licking his lips.

Kazuhira looked like he was on the verge of a stroke, eyes popping wide open with alarm written all over his face, a strange choked sound coming from his mouth.

“What? Did I say that wrong? Or you don’t want to?” John worried, tilting his head.

“No! No,” Kazuhira replied instantly, hands flying on John’s muscular thighs to keep him there. “It’s just, I’ve, ah, never really…”

John blinked a few times before understanding. “Don’t tell me, another brothel rule?” he asked with a tired sigh, but leaned down to kiss Kazuhira again, muffling any answer he might have had. “Then I’ll be your first,” he murmured quietly into Kazuhira’s ear.

It felt like something grabbed hold of Kazuhira’s heart and squeezed tightly at those words. John reached under the pillow to procure a bottle of oil and placed it in Kazuhira’s trembling hand. Kazuhira could only stare in wonder as John scooted a little up his body for him to reach John easier. He dipped his fingers in the oil, rubbing them together to warm the viscous fluid.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a shaky breath, looking up at John’s face.

“Completely.”

Kazuhira snaked his hand around and pressed a single finger at John’s entrance, just putting a little pressure on it. His other hand came to rub John’s rump, feeling hair as he got closer to his cleft, spreading his cheeks. He increased the pressure of his fingers slightly and found John’s body easily allowing his finger inside. It felt curious, doing this to someone else instead of him. John was hot inside, muscles gradually relaxing around his finger.

Kazuhira kept looking at John’s face for any sign of discomfort, but was met only with a mischievous sort of grin. Perplexed, Kazuhira tried his luck in sliding a second finger in, and that, too, breached John easily.

“I take it you’ve done this before?” Kazuhira asked hesitantly, doing his best to spread the oil inside John.

“Uh huh,” John nodded, licking his lips again. He hissed when Kazuhira started to scissor his fingers and bore down on them. John had definitely done this before, Kazuhira thought with some excitement.

“Did you do this to yourself?” Kazuhira asked, his own tenseness easing up. John only nodded again, encouraging Kazuhira to move his fingers more.

“Was it here?” he demanded and got a low, guttural moan in response. The sound went straight to Kazuhira’s groin, his cock dribbling at the sight of John eyes closed and so obviously enjoying Kazuhira’s fingers. He was nervous and excited at the same time, highly aroused but also worried that he might do something wrong or even hurt John. So he kept on his preparations, pulling his fingers out only to apply more oil on them and then return to his task.

“Don’t fuss,” John said, breathlessly, patting Kazuhira’s arm to make him stop. Kazuhira nodded and put the oil away, wiping his hand on the sheets. He just laid there in awe, watching as this big, burly man squatted lower on his body, taking Kazuhira’s cock in hand and aligning it with his entrance. John cast him a last, warning look, before focusing on his task. Kazuhira’s eyes were riveted to John’s face, wanting desperately to see every little expression crossing his face.

Kazuhira’s eyes lost focus when John lowered himself down, his head breaching the tight ring of muscle. His head lolled to the side with an uncontrolled moan. It was good, it was so good. The feeling of John sinking down on him was incredible, the oil making his entry sweetly slick, John’s walls clenching tightly around him with an unbelievable grip. Kazuhira’s breathing was uneven and rough, completely blissed out and unable to concentrate on anything but the velvety heat engulfing him so readily. His breath was tinged with a whine, amazed at he could feel boneless and excited simultaneously.

“You doing alright there, Kaz?” John asked short of breath with an amused grin on his face, voice laced with pride. “You should see yourself,” he breathed out with a groan when was all the way down on Kazuhira’s cock. “Good God, the sex appeal of an 18-year-old.”

“John…” Kazuhira tried to sigh, mouth sluggish and not co-operating with his brain anymore. “Oh… Oh John…” He might have heard John’s laugh turn into a moan as this astonishing and wonderful man above him started to lift himself back up, but all that was lost to him. It felt so amazing, but suddenly it felt too tight, too hot, and Kazuhira’s boneless sensation disappeared quickly with one, two spasms of his abdomen.

“John- wait, John—Don’t! John!” But it was too late. Kazuhira’s body was convulsing, a white glob appearing with a squelch as he spent himself just at the rim of John’s ass, fingernails pressing into soft flesh. His orgasm was tinged by shame and embarrassment, hands flying to cover his face.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I ruined it—,“ he whined from under his palms, face a brilliant shade of red. He wanted to crawl under a rock and die, but John pried his fingers away, turning his head to look at him.

“Hey. It’s all right,” he said in a soothing tone, caressing Kazuhira’s burning cheek with the side of his thumbs. “It happens.”

“I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Kazuhira rambled, mind still hazy at the edges, even if most of the blissful sensation evaporated with his ill-timed release. John shook his head and moved to lie down on top of Kazuhira, hands cradling his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and Kazuhira could feel John’s burning hardness against his stomach. ”Although, you being so young and all, I’m pretty sure you’ll be up and coming soon again,” John quipped, making Kazuhira groan in shame again.

“I guess. We can do other stuff in the meantime,” he suggested, licking his lips slowly.

John’s eyes lit up at that invitation, and he rolled them over with a laugh from Kazuhira’s part.

“You’re damn right we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [statisticsfag.tumblr.com](http://statisticsfag.tumbrl.com)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dark themes ahead.

A few days later, Kazuhira was terribly busy in helping prepare an important dinner event. Nishigawa had invited some foreign delegates to enjoy a meal in their household, to emphasize the modernity of himself and by extent, his country. Kazuhira didn’t know about the smaller details of their guests, and in all honesty, didn’t care to know. He was a little apprehensive about the event as he had yet to wait on others than the lord and lady.

In the morning, after Nishigawa had left, he followed the lady in her favourite mauve day dress to the markets, buying and carrying all the necessities for the event; ingredients for the food, fresh flowers, imported wine and so on. She wouldn’t be attending the dinner herself, but took part in the preparations nonetheless. After the shopping trip, Kazuhira felt more like a mule than a human being, shoulders aching and arms feeling like they had lengthened to the floor. He didn’t have Midou anymore to lead him on, but having the least years of service, was treated like a newcomer and got charged with all kinds of tasks around the household.

During the busy day, every now and then, his mind reeled back to the night spent with John. He recalled his walk back to the house, a skip in his step, humming a happy melody and even breaking into song. His second time, so to speak, was more satisfactory to both parties involved. He was continually astonished at how much trust John placed in him and the feelings that attached them together, those few precious words hovering in the air without being said. He also remembered his thoughts about John leaving, but had finally come to the conclusion that eventually, all relationships end. He should make the most of the time John was still here instead of dreading the day he would be gone.

For the rest of the day, he was running around the house, polishing tables, helping out in the kitchen, holding flowers for the lady to arrange in vases and whatever else anyone needed aid with. He understood that the foyer and dining room had to be shipshape for the guests, but why had all the other rooms also be cleaned and arranged more than usually? He really didn’t think the guests would wander off without permission, but he did as he was told, trying his best not to crumple under pressure when everyone seemed to bark different orders to him.

By the time the guests finally arrived, everything was set. Midou opened the door for the group of gentlemen and Kazuhira was there to take overcoats and cloaks. The three men that arrived were all in evening dress; tailored black jackets that reached mid-thigh with shawl collars or peaked lapels, low-cut waistcoats covering prim white shirts and black trousers with brightly polished black shoes.

One of the men, a stout bearded man with a weather-beaten face and a jovial smile, burst into excited words when he handed Kazuhira his overcoat. Kazuhira just smiled politely, as he was instructed to do, trying to catch a word of English. Nishigawa appeared from the dining room to welcome his guests and just in time to save Kazuhira, noting that he didn’t understand English very well yet. The man cast an inquisitive glance at Kazuhira, who just kept smiling.

The other two were less extroverted, not paying Kazuhira too much mind and instead focusing on their host for the evening. One had a long moustache under his nose, while the other – presumably younger one – had a completely bare face. Both men had a sort of arrogant look at them, giving tight-lipped smiles, and later Kazuhira would find out that these two were British while the jovial one was an American.

After carefully setting the guests outerwear away, Kazuhira moved to the dining room, trailing the men into the larger room. Some of the furniture had been moved to other rooms to better accommodate the four diners, but the richly coloured patterns and decorations still gave the dining room a stuffy atmosphere. There were no candles on the table, just the electric lamps around the room giving a warm kind of light.

Kazuhira found the actual waiting business to be fairly straightforward, even if he couldn’t understand everything that the guests said. He could decipher enough from the tones of their voices and gestures to understand whether they wanted more wine or whether it was all right to clear their plates. All duties were led by Midou, so all Kazuhira really had to do was follow orders and do what he had been training for weeks. When the guests didn’t require any attention, he and Midou stood at the side of the room stock-still and quiet. They were supposed to not look at the guests directly, but Kazuhira had a hard time understanding how he could see the situation at the table if he wasn’t allowed to look at them. Midou seemed to be better at it, mostly keeping his eyes straight forward but occasionally casting glances towards wine and water glasses and listening to the clatter of silverware.

“Kazuhira,” Nishigawa called out when the last of the plates had been cleared out and the guests were starting to light up cigars and cigarettes.

“Yes, my lord?” Kazuhira asked, hurrying over to his employer’s side.

“I would like to introduce you to these gentlemen, seeing how you will be able to help me form alliances such as these in the future,” Nishigawa explained in a kind manner, gesturing towards the guests.

“Of course, my lord,” Kazuhira replied with a small bow. When Nishigawa looked at him expectantly, he cleared his throat and delivered the simplest of introductions in his broken English. The American cheered with a round of hearty applause, while the Brits were more reserved in their recognition.

Nishigawa continued talking to the guests, most likely about Kazuhira as they looked over at him from time to time, nodding and conversing with their host. Kazuhira noted the strangely familiar emotion in the eyes of the guests, but couldn’t quite place it. He hadn’t been dismissed, or at least he hoped that he hadn’t just misread a signal, so he just stood right where he was, that polite smile on his face. Nishigawa summoned Midou as well and Kazuhira contemplated whether it was a common practice to introduce members of staff to guests. But instead, Midou poured a glass of wine and set it for Kazuhira.

The guests followed suit when Nishigawa lifted his glass and all four turned over to Kazuhira, who picked up the glass in front of him bewildered. Why was he invited to toast as well? He hadn’t been told about such a custom before.

“Cheers!” said everyone and drank deeply, Kazuhira following. He hadn’t had a chance to taste wine before and his first thought was that he would never drink it again. The taste was something awful, bitter, astringent and burning in his throat, leaving a strange aftertaste in his mouth. He hoped he hadn’t grimaced too much, trying to keep his face neutral with the horrible taste on his tongue. He wondered how strong the wine was, because almost immediately he felt a rush. He blinked a few times, fighting off the dizziness in his head, clearing his throat to excuse himself. He needed to sit down, he was so dizzy—

 

 

Earthquake, thought Kazuhira. Everything was shaking around him, so it had to be an earthquake. There was a strange pain thrumming in the vicinity of his tailbone; he must have fallen down on the floor. The trembling and wave-like rocking didn’t stop and it started to make him nauseous, lying with his face on the floor. He cracked his eyes opened and groaned, light and colour swimming together in an incomprehensible mess. He heard noise, like people singing somewhere far away, and a strange, rhythmic beating. Was it his pulse? The nausea was getting worse, so he tried to lift his upper body up with his arms, but a weight slammed him forcefully back against the floor. He heard a cracking sound and soon realized something was dripping from his nose.

His head seemed to be filled with dense, grey clouds, thoughts appearing and disappearing into the thick mass, not quite grasping them before they slid away. Why didn’t that hammering ache stop? If his upper body was against the floor, why weren’t his knees or toes? Something wasn’t right. Earthquakes didn’t last this long, or did it just seem to go on and on? The noise was there again, closer now, and sounded like speech. And why was the floor covered in thin cotton instead of lush carpets or hardwood? Kazuhira tried to move again and his eyes snapped open, clarity piercing through the heavy mist.

He was bent on the dinner table. Someone was fucking him. How long had he been unconscious?

“Gh…” he tried to speak, but his lips felt numb and his tongue too large for his mouth. His vocalizations were nearing desperation, when he felt someone tip his face to the side.

“I do apologize, my flower, for this underhanded method,” Nishigawa said, sitting on his chair, calm and collected, sipping his wine nonchalantly.

“Wh…” Kazuhira tried again, looking up towards his employer. Why? His chin rubbed against the tablecloth with every jarring thrust.

“It’s been too long since I’ve taken care of you,” Nishigawa continued in an ill-fitted, remorseful tone. “A beautiful blossom like you needs seed to thrive.”

Kazuhira could focus better now and felt the hard grip of fingers on his hips, the rutting of one of the guests – he couldn’t see who – and his grunting behind him. He gritted his teeth and tried to wiggle free, up, away, anything, but the same weight from before, someone’s hand, pushed him back down, pinning him in place until he stayed down.

“See, this is what I feared. Without care, you’ve become too wild. This is all for your own good, my flower. What a happy coincidence that these gentlemen were ready to assist me after seeing you. I will be much inclined to petition their case in the offices.”

The blood running from his nose smeared Kazuhira’s lips, tasting like iron in his mouth. He had to get away, he hadn’t agreed to this, he was panicking and angry and horrified and so very afraid. His assaulter finished inside him with a groan and a last thrust, the next man stuffing his cock inside him within seconds.

“N… no!” Kazuhira was able to cough out, drops of blood spluttering from between his teeth. He yelped in pain when the violator rammed in hard.

“No? Surely you recall agreeing to this. Our contract stated that you wouldn’t be doing anything you would be unfamiliar with. I would call this very familiar to you,” Nishigawa explained with a terribly kind voice, stroking Kazuhira’s cheek.

“Stop! Please, stop!” Kazuhira pleaded, chocking back hot tears, but his words fell on deaf ears. He had to get away, he had to make them stop! His breathing was ragged as he tried to look around for anyone or anything to help him.

He heard the men talking something with Nishigawa, the host continuing to converse with them as he would of the weather. He didn’t need to understand what was being said; their low voices and hoarse words were much alike to what he had heard of his clients. Kazuhira endeavoured to move his hands and arms against the table, to find something to hold on to instead of being shoved against the edge of the table. They hadn’t even bothered to undress him, just pulled his trousers low enough around his thighs to have access. The edge of the table bit hard into his groin with every shove,

His fingertips fumbled on the table, creeping slowly so that the men wouldn’t notice. He felt the touch of cool metal and soon realized it was a silver fork. In a ghastly split second, he reacted. It felt like his rational brain had shut off, huddled in fear in a corner. He grabbed the fork and twisted sideward, swinging it backwards with all the adrenaline-fueled strength he had.

His attacker screamed and backed off with the narrow tines of the fork plunged deep into the side of his thigh. Nishigawa stood up quickly and tried to grab Kazuhira, but failed as the young man clambered hurriedly off the table, hand finding a knife to hold on to. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears, felt the frenzied beating of his heart. Time seemed to slow down as he turned around, knife in hand, and fell on his assailant with a wild scream. The sharp triangular shape of the tip of the knife sunk into the side of his throat, crimson blood gushing out.

For a moment, everything stilled in the room, with the gurgling of the dying man underlining what just had transpired. Kazuhira was shaking in shock. He hadn’t meant to hurt the man, he just wanted him to stop, he just wanted to get away from here, it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault--

“Kazuhira!” he heard Nishigawa choke out in anger and the moment was over. Kazuhira sensed more than heard or saw one of the other men starting for him. He yanked the knife out of his victim and flung it at the man closing in on him, aiming to buy him a few more seconds instead of actually causing damage. It was enough, for the man backed away with a cry, assessing damage instead of going for Kazuhira.

The lizard part in his brain told him that the fight was over and now it was time for flight. He crawled onto his feet, pulling up his trousers and ran. He raced out of the dining room before anyone caught him and rushed outside through the foyer with angry voices yelling behind him. It sounded like one of them gave chase, but Kazuhira didn’t look back. Pupils blown wide and heart hammering in terror, he spurted down the dark road, his whole being bent on escaping, now.

He ran and ran through the maze of roads and buildings, shoes thumping against the ground until his heart seemed to burst and his lungs burned like fire. He ducked into a little side ally and tried to catch his breath. What would he do? Had he really killed that man? It wasn’t his fault, he kept repeating to himself like a soothing mantra to the verge of hysteria. Where would he go? He’d need help—the police would catch him—but he was innocent—but it wasn’t his fault—

Kazuhira wiped his sweaty brow with his hand, disturbed by the red stickiness he found. The man’s blood must have sprayed on his face, maybe even onto his hair and most certainly on his clothes he determined. Hands and legs quivering, he thought he’d go back to the brothel. Yes, he was sure Renichi and maybe even the Master would help him, take his side and hide him if need be and—But no, the gate was always manned by the police. They would stop him and question his savage look and then they’d catch him and he’d be sentenced to death even if it wasn’t his fault but who would believe a whore and—

He thought he heard running footsteps closing in on his hideout. No, he thought, he can’t stay here, he must find a safe place. He’d try to go to John’s lodging, yes, why yes of course! Why hadn’t he thought about that before! John could help him, hide him away until people would just listen to him and they could stay in that room for days and no one would find him there. Kazuhira poked his head out of the alley, peering in all directions before moving out. He stayed in the shadows as far as he could, always hiding when he saw someone. He just needed to get to the waterfront and then everything would be all right—

“Police! Stop!”

Kazuhira didn’t check to whom they were shouting at and instead burst to a spurt immediately, adrenaline giving him stamina to fly along the streets. Even when he didn’t hear anyone running after him anymore, he kept rushing on, fearful of what would happen if he was caught by the authorities. He ran and ran, walking only for as long as he needed to gain enough oxygen to start running again. Never before had the scent of ocean salt felt so reassuring than now, when he turned a corner and could see the lights of the lodging house in the distance.

He walked into the front room as casually as he was able to, and was met with a horrified scream. The old lady was wiping down the tables again, but stopped and just pointed at Kazuhira when he appeared in the warm light. His sweat had mixed with the blood, painting his face and hands like watercolours, a terrible sight.

“Demon!” she cried out loudly and before Kazuhira could do or say anything, turned on her heels and fled somewhere out of sight. Kazuhira felt the rush of panic take him over again and heard the sound of someone dialling numbers on a telephone. Oh no, he thought, she’s calling the police! Kazuhira darted into the hallway where he had gone last time, running to the end of the corridor and rapped on John’s door.

“John? John! Are you there?” he whispered loudly, body strung on high alert, glancing nervously towards the front area where he came from. There was no answer, so he knocked louder. “John! It’s me, you have to help—“

The door was opened just enough for Kazuhira to fall inside. John closed it immediately after him, taking in the frenzied sight that just entered his lodgings.

“Kaz, what happened? Are you hurt?” John asked, voice level and calm, looking his young lover over to see where the blood was coming from.

“They’re going to kill me John,” Kazuhira started, eyes wide with terror, trembling all over. “They think I killed him but I didn’t I just had to get away they drugged me and I didn’t want it please John you have to help me—“

“Slow down!” John ordered, cutting into Kazuhira’s hysterical rambling, placing a calming hand on his upper arm. Kazuhira flinched with a whimper and shied away from the touch, like having been touched with a branding iron. John raised his hands in an offering of peace, trying to reassure the scared man before him.

“Tell me everything.”


	15. Chapter 15

It wasn’t far into Kazuhira’s narrative of the sordid events that led him there that John started packing. He went through the drawers while Kazuhira was still talking, collecting some essential items and stuffing them in small pouches and a satchel. When Kazuhira told him what had happened when he had awoken on the dining room table, he could swear he heard the wooden handle on the drawer crack.

“Do you want me to kill them? Is that why you’re here?” John asked darkly, his back towards Kazuhira.

“What? No! I mean—,” Kazuhira said, catching his breath, but then hesitated. “…Would you do it? If I asked?” he continued, thoughts running amok. Even if the thought of gruesome revenge seemed sweet for a moment, it soon evoked more questions than solutions.

John turned his head, revealing the absolute murder in his eyes. “In a heartbeat.”

Kazuhira flinched, never before seeing more beast than man in John. The older man resumed his packing which didn’t seem to take long to finish, everything tucked away into leather pouches attached to his belt. He strapped his weapon belt on as well, hiding the pistol under his dark navy jacket.

“You don’t think I… overreacted?” Kazuhira asked carefully, fearing John’s answer. The thought was worming through his mind, that he had maybe understood everything wrongly, that his reaction was misguided, that he should have just accepted his fate as a toy for his master’s use. He did get paid for it, in a way. “I mean, he was right—“

“’Right’?!” John seethed, raising his voice. “The man drugged you and had you gang ra—“

“Don’t say it!” Kazuhira interrupted, wincing. “Please, don’t… I don’t want to think about it.” He didn’t want to admit to what had occurred, at least not to that extent. He wanted to sweep it somewhere deep and dark in his memories, preferably under lock and key never to be visited again. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he had been violated, trying to downplay the whole incident in his mind.

“You will, whether you want it or not,” John replied. Something in the tone of his voice gave Kazuhira the feeling that John knew from experience what he was talking about. He had doubtlessly seen his fair share of atrocities himself.

Kazuhira turned his head towards the sound of hurried footsteps stopping outside the door. Frantic knocking ensued, followed by barked orders to open the door. He didn’t know who the people outside were and didn’t want to know, assuming the worst. They were here for him and now they would take John as well!

“But first, I’m getting you out of here,” John said, moving towards the window. The banging outside the door became louder and Kazuhira feared they would break through at any moment and capture him and execute him, his thoughts snowballing into panic one again. John worked the latch on the window open, letting in cool air.

“C’mon, through here,” John said quietly with a wave of his hand, gesturing towards the open window. Kazuhira was startled out of his reflections by John’s voice, heading for the escape route. He knew he did the right thing coming to see John, that if there was anyone who could and would help him out, it had to be him. They would get through this, he started repeating to himself as he climbed out of the window, John was on his side, and everything would be all right and—

As it was, Kazuhira didn’t notice the figure standing just to the side of the window, pressed against the outer wall. His right leg touched the ground, back towards the figure while he worked on getting his left leg above the windowsill. He didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of a gun being cocked, didn’t see the glint of moonlight upon a metal barrel just an arm’s length from his shoulder.

“Kaz!” he heard John shout and then everything seemed to happen at once. He felt someone – presumably John – shove him forward, toppling face first into the grassy earth. He heard a dreadfully loud sound somewhere close by, whether it was above or behind or to the side, he couldn’t tell. He rolled into the ground with a thud, scraping his hands and wrists, ears ringing. Through the hum, he heard John groan in pain and felt a heavy weight collapsing on top of him.

“John?!” he panicked, clambering away from under the body that fell upon him – John! He was bleeding from the head, Kazuhira realized, only now taking note of the dark-clothed officer right behind him.

“You killed him!” he hissed, baring his teeth to the dumbfounded man looming above him. His brain was overflown with rage, anger and fury towards this imbecile who didn’t know how to use a gun, towards himself for John’s sake. The policeman started to quickly reload his weapon, not knowing that it would all be in vain. For a terrible moment, Kazuhira thought that now he really didn’t have anything left to lose and grabbed the serrated knife from John’s body, thrusting it upwards into the man’s stomach. This time, he’d make sure his victim would not live, dragging the knife sideways in a twisted version of a harakiri ritual. He didn’t hear the wail of his victim from the blood rushing in his ears, didn’t smell the blood which seemed to permeate the very air around them.

Suddenly, he felt someone touch his leg and twisted around to see John climb up to his knees. Blood was trickling down the right side of his face, seeping into the bandanna around his head.

“John!” Kazuhira exclaimed, dropping the knife and cradling John’s injured face. “I thought he killed you!” he cried out, too much thought and emotion in turbulence within him to make out what was happening, forced to focus on the absolute here and now.

“’m fine,” John groaned, leaning on Kazuhira for support to get on his feet. “They heard-- we have to keep moving,” he ground out, wiping his hand across his face to clean away the blood. It didn’t stop running, so Kazuhira yanked the bandanna around John’s head sideways, covering his eye in a makeshift bandage, reaching around to tighten the knot at the back of his head.

“Let’s go,” John repeated, picking up the bloodied knife and tucking it in his belt. Kazuhira heard noises coming around the corner and grabbed John’s hand, darting into a run to escape the scene of his second kill.

John seemed to have a better knack for staying out of sight, picking a direction and guiding Kazuhira along with him, ducking in dark alleys whenever he heard other people too close by. He led them along the dark streets, always keeping the sea to their right.

When they had reached the outskirts of Yokohama, they stopped, considering an abandoned shack safe enough for them to rest for a moment. At least at one point it had been a shack, now a husk with only three walls standing and a caved in roof. They didn’t find a lamp or a candle to light, instead using John’s matchsticks to find scraps to burn for a little light to assess their wounds and injuries.

Both of them had probably plenty of bruises forming on their bodies, but neither seemed to have bleeding cuts under their clothes. To Kazuhira’s amazement, John procured a small tin box from his satchel, opening it in the flickering light to reveal a small assortment of bandages, tablets, cotton swabs, plasters and much more.

“What’s that?” he asked, curious.

“It’s a first aid kit. You don’t have these?” John replied, producing a tiny glass vial and some cotton. “Could you…?” he trailed off, gesturing towards his own face. Kazuhira saw John’s expression to be worried, even fearful. He didn’t know a lot about wounds and healing, but could surmise that something bleeding from the head had to be a bad thing. Carefully, he loosened the knot on the bandanna, peeling the caked fabric off John’s face.

“I can’t see anything yet,” Kazuhira commented, dabbing the cotton swab with the bitter contents of the vial. He started to methodically clean away the dried blood to see where the wound was; holding John’s head steady with his other hand. He could see some reddening on John’s cheekbone and brow, like they had been burned. The older man kept his eyes closed as Kazuhira worked, finding small cuts on his temple, slithering into his hairline.

“That’s all, I think,” Kazuhira said after a while more of cleaning and dabbing the brown liquid on any abrasions he found. John opened his eyes and Kazuhira jumped, bringing the feeble flame closer to his face.

“Oh John, your eye! It’s, it’s—“ he struggled, staring at the ruptured eyeball. “There’s something wrong with it,” he said, trying to figure out how to explain what he saw without knowing the anatomical terms. “The black is kind of flowing out, and the white is all red,” he described, trying to avoid scrunching his face too much in revolt at the unnatural sight of John’s blue eye warped and bloodied.

“Huh. Would explain how I can’t see with it,” John huffed, blinking a few times again to experiment.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” Kazuhira said quietly, rubbing John’s shoulder. John had seen the man with the gun and shoved Kazuhira away from the line of fire, only ending up getting hurt instead. “You tried to help me and now you can’t see.”

“I’ll manage,” John said, trying to sound reassuring. He flicked through the metal box again and produced some gauze, dressing it diagonally across his face to cover his wounded eye. “I had to do something. At that range, the bullet would have killed you instantly,” he explained, finishing his task. “Now let me have a look at you. Does your nose hurt?”

Kazuhira didn’t have the time to answer when John’s fingers were already pressing to the side of his nose, eliciting a grunt of pain. It wasn’t until now that Kazuhira started to take stock of all the places he hurt and ached, places where bruises and scars would surely appear. He let John take care of him, even if John was the one more injured, fumbling every now and then when an action required depth of vision. He supposed they should be thankful that they had managed to escape at all, the night gone quiet around them. If anyone was still looking for them, Kazuhira didn’t think they’d find the pair here, so far from the scenes of the crimes.

The thought stung more than the iodine John was applying to his skin. Crime. Murder. Killer. He couldn’t say whether he had done the right thing or not, attacking Nishigawa’s guest with the fork. He hadn’t meant for him to die, just to stop. Why didn’t he stop? How had Kazuhira not seen something was wrong? And now, here they were with John, tending to each other’s wounds because they couldn’t go see a doctor.

“John,” Kazuhira began, pliantly turning his head this way and that under John’s hands, his caretaker checking for bumps on his skull. “You’ve killed people before, right?”

“I have,” John confirmed, his examination turning more into fondling, running his fingers through dirty, blonde hair, pressing Kazuhira’s head against his shoulder.

“Does it feel different when you do it for money?” Kazuhira asked quietly, wanting some kind of sounding board for his rampant thoughts and roiling emotions.

John was quiet for a moment, the scraps burning out, only faint moonlight illuminating a patch on the dilapidated wall. “I could ask you the same. Does it feel different to have sex for money than it does with me now?”

“How is that the same?” Kazuhira asked, raising his head to look John in the eyes – eye, singular, he cringed. “Having sex with a customer and with someone I love feels completely different!” Kazuhira argued, neither quite realizing the depth of his words. “When there’s money involved, it’s just a job, it’s work. Whether I feel anything is irrelevant,” he continued, mulling the thought over for a while, before seeing John’s point. “You mean… it’s the same with your work?”

“Yeah. Well, close enough anyway,” John amended, implicating the much more dire consequences of taking someone else’s life, whether for money or not.

“Then take me with you!” Kazuhira burst out, words rolling off his tongue before he had time to think them through. “Teach me how to fight and defend myself!” He never wanted to feel as defenceless as he had on that dinner table, with nothing but fear and panic crowding his mind. “I’ll help you any way I can, just please, take me with you! I can’t stay here,” he went on, trying to find good arguments to win John over. “You wanted to teach your techniques to someone, right? Train me to fight with you!”

John let out a thoughtful hum. “I suppose I could teach you,” he said slowly after a moment of pondering. “An army of two, you and me,” he chuckled.

Kazuhira’s face lit up in the dark. “Yes! You know, there’s a saying that the only way to thank your teacher is by surpassing him,” he said, feeling a tiny ember of hope in this gloomy situation. John let out a short laugh at that.

“Oh… I don’t have any money or papers though,” Kazuhira said, fearing that he’d have to go back to the house to get the money he hid under the mattress of his bed.

John lit up another match, lighting up another scrap he found on the ground. “Don’t worry, papers are easy to forge. And I’ve got enough money to get us started,” he said with a small smile.

“Where are we going?” Kazuhira asked, mind supplying him with images from picture books and paintings of exotic lands far across the sea, ranging from snow-covered hills to lush jungles, deep red mountains and endless prairies. Yes, he would go with John and leave all this behind, start anew somewhere far, far away.

“There’s always trouble brewing in some part of the world, and that’s where we’re going,” John answered. “We’ll take ship from Edo and leave the country, but it’s a six hour march. We’d better get started,” he finished, pragmatic even in uncertainty. Kazuhira agreed, wanting to get as much distance between him and this town, this life, preferring to rest somewhere further down the road.

Just exactly what he would find down the road, he didn’t know. He was embarking on a journey to the unknown, chasing those sepia coloured clouds he had seen from the latticed window of his room at the Lotus Shadow, truly leaving to find his own light and his future. He hoped that for a long time, that future would be with John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> Hit "next chapter" for an epilogue. ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

“Hey Snake, can I tell you something?” Kazuhira Miller asked, enjoying the Caribbean sunset. Waves coloured yellow by the setting sun splashed gently against the wooden pier, wetting his bare toes with every roll of the water.

“What is it, Kaz?” Snake asked, turning his head to the blonde man sitting next to him. He had decided to humour his second in command and go on this ‘date’ with him, a little curious about Kaz’s intentions.

“It’s pretty silly, but…” Kaz started, scratching his neck, leaning closer to his commander.

“Shoot.”

Kaz took a deep breath. “It’s just that sometimes when I look at you, I… I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, you know?” His words were serious, lacking the light, joking tones usually there.

“Like you’re someone I’ve known from ages ago, even if that’s not actually possible.”

“Like I’ve gone through hell with you so many times that I’m confident we can do it again, together.”

“Snake. Do you believe in reincarnation? Souls living beyond the scope of a single human lifetime?”

“Kaz...” Snake said, staring straight into those blue eyes visible from behind the tinted lenses, the setting sun painting his features in gold.

And then, he burst into laughter, ruining the moment, if there ever was one.

“What?!” Kaz huffed, throwing his hands up.

“That has got to be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard,” Snake bellowed, wiping tears of laughter from his eye.

“I was being honest!” Kaz complained loudly, crossing his arms.

Snake patted him on the shoulder. “Sure you were. Now can we get back to the base?” he asked, itching to leave the peace and quiet.

“No!” Kaz said, earning a grumble from his superior. “We’re going to watch the sunset. And the stars,” he said, a smile returning to his face.

“All the way until dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this chance to say a big heartfelt THANK YOU to every single one of you who has followed me and supported me on this magnificient journey. It has been amazing, it has been tough at times, but I have received so much love from you during the process. Whether you've just been reading on and off or left a kudo or a comment (or several!!), you're amazing. <3
> 
> I sincerely hope it has been enjoyable for you as well. I will most likely continue doing some illustrations for this fic, which will be found on [my tumblr account](http://statisticsfag.tumblr.com) under the tag "pleiades". If this fic has inspired you to draw as well, please, I'd love to see what you've come up with! :D
> 
> And for those of you who think you've wasted your time reading this, uh, well, umm, sorry? :D I do appreciate constructive criticism as I'm well aware I'm not a perfect writer (or a perfect anything now that I think about it). I also know I've used about 97,6% of all possible cliches and tropes during this fic, so may I burn in hell for that. xD
> 
> All in all, I can't believe it's over. ; _ ; 
> 
> THANK YOU <3


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